


Bucky Barnes: Vampire King

by aspecialkindofhuman



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Human!Steve, M/M, Vampire AU, Vampire!Bucky, but that's not til later, i hate stucky i really do, some preserum!steve, spn au, this is terrible and really long but whatever it satisfies my craving for vampire!bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-02
Updated: 2014-07-02
Packaged: 2018-02-07 03:57:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1884450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aspecialkindofhuman/pseuds/aspecialkindofhuman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the first in a three part series of vampire!bucky. This one is awfully long (it took me an awfully long time to write it but im so glad I did cause it really satisfies my desire for vampire!bucky) and equal parts angst, fluff, and action. This is the modern day meet up au where Bucky is the vampire king of New York and stumbles upon gorgeous Steve Rogers and falls in love with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bucky Barnes: Vampire King

**Author's Note:**

> this was inspired by that popular text post on tumblr about the human having silver piercings on to anger their vampire boyfriend and started out as just a short little plot bunny. But it got a whole lot longer and grew to almost monstrous proportions. Enjoy!

It used to be simple. So fucking simple. Kill, eat, sleep repeat. If Bucky was hungry, humans died. Now it was all so complicated. Everything was different. He had . . . a _conscious_ , Lord help him. A conscious in the form of one tall blonde man with a smile like concentrated sunshine.

*

The mission was easy enough.

“We got wind of another hunter in New York.” Natasha’s voice was quiet in Bucky’s ear. “Want me take care of it or do you think you can get your sorry ass in gear and kill him before he gains some traction?”

“I’ve got him.” Bucky’s grin was two parts fang, one part smirk.

Mission: Take down the hunter. It should’ve been easy. After all, Bucky knew New York City like the back of his hand.

New York was _his_ territory. Born with the special ability to hear the siren song of hunters, Bucky was destined to become a vampire. He was turned by a nasty bastard named Zola in Nazi Germany in the middle of World War Two, trained to be a vampire WMD. But Bucky had grown tired of his captor. He’d gained strength easily, killed over a hundred people before he’d fought his way out of the country so he could haunt the streets he’d grown up in.

In death, Bucky found the city was kinder to him than it ever had been in life. The streets were more open, the people more attentive. They bent to his will, did whatever he asked of them. Of course, Bucky himself was more handsome and people always opened up to a pretty face.

Bucky got more out of life as a vampire than he ever had as a human. He was a monster and he didn’t care. He killed people when he got hungry, dumped their bodies in the Hudson, and then read the newspaper stories about the police trying to catch the killer with interest. But they’d never catch him.

Bucky was the Vampire King of New York, the overlord of everything that went bump in the night. He commanded a scary kind of respect in most underground social circles, a respect that he fed off of and used to his advantage. Even humans knew to respect him. They ducked their heads when he passed by, averted their gazes, and paid him the respect he deserved. They feared him. Everyone did.  

Simply said, it was a good life.

Until that blonde douche decided to come along and fuck everything up.

The thing that irritated Bucky the most was the _way_ he’d fucked it up. He hadn’t done _anything_. He wasn’t a damned hunter, or a nosy cop, or an ambitious wizard looking for cheap vampire fangs to sell on the black market. He wasn’t anything. He was just _Steve_. So completely mind-numbingly ordinary that it just blew Bucky’s fucking mind that he could find him even remotely attractive.

But he did. God, he did.

The first time they met was the night Bucky got back after visiting his young protégé. He’d flown in from D.C. – Natasha’s territory – and hitched a cab to his penthouse apartment. He kept an ear attuned for the telltale cry of a hunter’s blood while the cabbie drove, taking him into the heart of town. When the cabbie pulled to a stop at a red light, Bucky found himself listening, one ear cocked, to a faint singing. A distant blood cry.

Bucky blinked and pressed his ear to the glass, ignoring the odd look the cabbie gave him. His eyes narrowed as the cry sharpened, ringing crystal clear in his ears. He rested his hand on the handle, lips parted in anticipation when the door opposite him opened sharply and a tall blonde man slid into the seat beside him.

“Intersection of 42nd and – oh crap.” A warm voice filled the cab and Bucky turned, looking into a pair of the bluest blue eyes he’d ever seen.

“Shoot, I’m sorry. I didn’t see anyone else in here.” The voice continued, but Bucky wasn’t listening.

He was too busy staring at those eyes, leaning closer to study the liquid color of his irises. Bucky was only half aware of the cabbie’s voice, calling to him, asking what he wanted to do about this kid.

“I’m sorry.” The eyes moved away and Bucky’s hand shot out fisting around the boy’s shirt collar to try and keep those eyes in sight.

“It’s okay,” he said, taking a deep breath. The boy smelled like rain and charcoal, a deep smoky scent that reminded Bucky of the way the air smelled in late fall, just before the winter chill took hold. Looking away from those beautiful eyes, Bucky gave the boy a quick once over, gaze lingering over the wet sketchpads in his arms and the university jacket folded around his broad frame. “He can stay.”

Bucky leaned away from the young man, breathing deeply in and out of his nose. He could feel the kid’s surprise, and that of the cabbie, but he ignored them both, turning ahead and snapping in a cold, vicious tone, “Drive.”

Bucky closed his eyes, aware of the boy’s gaze lingering on the side of his face. His cold skin felt warm where those blue eyes touched him and he sighed brokenly, pressing his lips together in a hard flat line.

“Thanks,” he said after a moment, voice low and hesitant.

Bucky nodded without looking at him. “No problem.”

He hoped that would be the end of the conversation, for the boy’s sake if not for his own. Already, Bucky was _thisclose_ to reaching over and burying his fangs deep, deep in that beautiful white column of skin. But those eyes. They were so beautiful. And Bucky did not want to see them dimmed by death.

“Steve Rogers.” The boy held his hand out, eyes raking nervously over Bucky’s pristine white collar outfit.

Bucky slipped his hand in his and immediately regretted it, feeling Steve’s pulse beat hard and hot at his fingertips. “James.”

“That’s a stiff name.” Steve tried to pull his hand back but Bucky wasn’t quite ready to let go of him yet. “Can’t have much fun with a name like that.”

Bucky smiled despite himself, tasting the boy’s rain-charcoal scent in the air around him. “Friends call me Bucky.”

Steve nodded and Bucky finally let go of his hand. He relaxed against his seat, still nodding, with a small smile curling his pale lips up. “Well,” he said, gathering his books and wet paper against his chest as the cabbie rolled to a stop. “I hope I get to call you that someday.”

He hopped out of the cab before Bucky could recover, strolling out into the rain with cute hunched shoulders and a face shielded against the rain.

“Drive on,” Bucky ordered the cabbie, watching Steve walk through the pelting rain.

 _Shoulders aren’t cute,_ Bucky thought to himself, later at his penthouse. _You can’t think someone’s walk is cute._ _But that boy . . ._ Bucky looked down at the dark liquid in his wine glass – a vintage duke from the later 1500’s – shaking his head with a lilting smile.

_He sure is beautiful. For a human anyway._

*

The next time they met, the circumstance were a little more dire. Bucky was overseeing a late night transaction, a nice order of blood shipped in from Europe. As Vampire King it was Bucky’s job to make sure the city’s underworld ran smoothly. That entailed everything from making sure various supply shipments found their recipient, to taking out an especially nosy cop, to ordering a hit on one of the few rival underworld factions that threatened the careful balance he’d worked so hard to create.

            But it was calmer that day. Nothing but a simply delivery Bucky wanted to make sure got to the right person. They’d had some blood theft early that month – some pesky rat had stolen the entire collection of King’s blood (King Henry, thank you very much not that wimpy French bastard) – and Bucky was wary of upsetting this shipment’s very influential buyer.

            “Careful!” he barked at one of the men beneath him scowling as their grip wavered on one of the very large crates of blood vials. “Don’t drop that.”

He cursed in Russian, turning away when he heard a loud scuffle erupt out of the alleyway behind him.

“Work quickly!” he hissed at the men, scowling and moving forward to check out the source of the noise. “Not one drop spilled!”

Bucky liked to work in the city. His dealings, although sketchy and deadly in nature, gave him a feeling similar to an adrenaline rush when worked around humans. He liked watching them squirm, enjoyed their suspicion and their fear and all their forced bravado. He liked flashing the truth – that their city was populated by people who lived to kill them – right up into their faces and watching to see whether they would grin and bear it or if it would crack them right down the center.

But sometimes working in the city had its flaws.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, punk?” A loud, rough human voice from the mouth of the alley. “Trying to be some kind of hero?”

“Go back to your paints, shit head.” Another voice, even lower and rougher than the last and flush with the heat of whiskey.

Bucky moved closer, listening as the voices grew louder and louder, their heartbeats sounding like drums in his ears. He felt the attention of his men behind him, heard the blood van drive away as the transaction was completed, but he ignored them all.

“Shut up!” Bucky almost groaned when he heard that voice.

He didn’t know many humans, didn’t keep many contacts outside of those he needed. But he knew one human.

And his name was Steve Rogers.

And of fucking course he just _happened_ to be right outside the alley where Bucky was doing business.

“Leave him alone.” Another human voice, but definitely not Steve’s.

“Shut up, bird brain.” Yet another not-Steve voice. Jesus, how many humans were out tonight?

There was the sound of a scuffle and suddenly Bucky could smell blood. Closing his eyes he let the aroma wash over him, burning on the back of his tongue and making his mouth water.

“Dammit.” The nice not-Steve voice. Bucky heard him stumble backwards, tipped his head around the corner to watch him reach for Steve’s shoulder. “Come on, Steve.” He panted. “It’s not worth it.”

 _Of course_ , Bucky thought, eyeing the group of men. _Of course its Steve fucking Rogers and his band of merry men._ He didn’t give a shit about the other guys, all he could focus on, all he could see was that beautiful piece of meat that was Steve Rogers. His blonde hair gleamed in the pale light falling from a streetlight up above. His back was to Bucky, but he knew, _he knew_ , that if he turned around those blue orbs would be staring at him, so big and so blue and so fucking full of life.

“You’re so full of it, Rumlow.” _That_ was Steve, damn his beautiful human soul. He sounded tired, out of breath and so damn low it made Bucky’s cold dead heart ache just listening to him. “You talk a mean game. But in the end you’re just one big piece of shit.”

Bucky couldn’t help but smile when he heard Steve curse.

The scuffle broke out in earnest then, erupting into a heated fight when one of the not-Steves pulled a knife. Bucky heard the scrape of the metal, listened to the sound of flesh hitting flesh. Then Steve was in front of him, lying on the sidewalk with a shallow stream of blood flowing from his scalp. He sat up, holding one hand to his forehead before he saw Bucky, blinking in surprise.

“Bucky?” His mouth fell open and before Bucky could deal with the mixture of shock and excitement that bloomed on his face, there was a human on top of him, slamming his fists into Steve’s soft, vulnerable flesh.

“Hey!” he shouted, yanking the kid off Steve with a mean snarl. “Pick on someone your own size.”

The guy – a dark-haired brute that had a face so stereotypical villanesque he looked like he’d walked straight off the pages of a comic book – lunged like he was going to make a swing at Buck. He was on the ground before his fist fell. Bucky threw a good one to his gut and then picked him up and kicked his butt for good measure. He scowled as he and his goons took off, running full speed down the street.

“Hooligans,” he muttered, shaking his head and dusting off his shirt.

Turning around, he looked down and saw Steve staring up at him. The look on his eyes was . . . He was looking at Bucky like he thought the sun rose and set on his shoulders, like he admired him, like he looked up to Bucky or some shit like that.

Bucky almost grinned. _Dumb kid_ , he thought, wrapping his hand around Steve’s wrist and yanking him to up on his feet. _I got this one hook line and sinker_.

“Thanks, man.” There was another voice, the nicer not-Steve voice from earlier. Bucky turned and saw a tall African American man about the same age as Steve standing behind him. “Nice punch.”

“We had ‘em on the ropes, Sam.” Steve looked his friend’s way, smiling fondly through his lie. “We could’ve taken them.”

“Yeah, you wish.” Sam shook his head. “That’s what you get for picking fights, Steve. And dumb ones too. You’re twice the man he is.”

“I’m sorry.” Bucky stuck his hand out towards the other man, wishing he would just go away so Bucky could bury his teeth in Steve’s neck like he should’ve done in the back of that cab. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

“Neither do I.” Sam took his hand and shook it once. “Sam Wilson. Damn, you’re cold.”

Bucky flashed him a big toothy grin.

“You two know each other?” He looked at Steve, brows raised in question.

“Yeah, we, uh . . .” Bucky turned around and Steve was blushing, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “We shared a cab.”

There was a sharp intake of breathe and Bucky slid his eyes in Sam’s direction, watching as his face contorted to hide a smile. “ _Oh_ ,” he said, looking at Steve with a knowing expression. “So this is cab man.”

Everything about the situation screamed teenage crush. Not only had Bucky swooped in and saved Steve from a juvenile fight, but he also got the impression Steve had talked about him to Sam, gossiped like a middle school girl.

Bucky tried really hard not to smile.

And failed.

Miserably.

“Cab man,” he grinned, sliding his eyes in Steve’s direction. “That’s me, alright.”

“Well, thanks for saving our asses.” Sam was still looking at Steve, eyebrows raised dangerously high. “You just met the three most rowdy frat boys on campus.”

“You go to school in city?” Bucky looked to Steve.

“Yessir.” Sam spoke before Steve could, sliding between them and wrapping an arm around Steve’s shoulders. “Colombia University.”

“Me too.” The words came out of his mouth before Bucky could stop them.

Steve’s eyebrows zipped up into his hairline. “Really? How come I’ve never seen you on campus then?”

“I go to night classes mostly,” Bucky shrugged, already cursing himself for the lie. “Gotta work during the day so.”

“Where ya working?” Sam eyed him closely, like he could smell the money on him.

“Family business.” He grinned, trying to scare him off.

It didn’t work.

“Let us buy you a drink.” Sam pushed Steve closer to Bucky, still smiling. “You saved our asses after all. We have to find some way to thank you.”

Oh Bucky knew how Steve could thank him. But since whatever Bucky had in mind would probably end with the gorgeous blonde’s death, he decided to take Sam up on his offer.

Ten minutes later they were at a local university bar. They ordered drinks and then Sam spotted someone he knew across the room.

“Say hi to Clint, for me!” Steve called as he Sam went over to say hello.

That left him and Bucky. _Finally, some alone time with Captain Fine Ass_ , Bucky thought.

They talked a little. Drank a little. The more Steve drank the more his lips loosened – although Sam had warned Bucky not to go toe-to-toe with him earlier, apparently the guy had _incredible_ tolerance. Bucky learned that he was military history major who spent an awfully lot of time in the art department, had grown up in the city, owned an apartment not far from the art building, and could speak French. They laughed and chatted a little in French – he wasn’t kidding, he actually did know a decent bit of the language, much to Bucky’s surprise – and Bucky found himself warming up to him, to a fucking human.

“That’s Sam.” Steve nodded in his friend’s direction. “You know him. Oh and that’s Clint. Blonde hair, right there. Thinks he’s so cool, he’s a total dork really. Big archery fan. Yeah, I know, right? He’s weird.” He kept looking around the room, pointing out people he knew to Bucky. “That’s Bruce over there. Dr. Bruce Banner. Professor of something. God, I forget. He’s into the sciences and I’m not so keen on those.”

“No?” Bucky grinned.

Steve shook his head. “I got other stuff on my plate.”

“So if you like art so much why are you majoring in military history?” Bucky took another swig of his beer, surprising himself at how much he was actually getting into the conversation.

“I dunno.” Steve ducked his head, looking down sadly. “It’s just . . . My dad.” He cleared his throat. “Step-dad, he was a Senator. Member of some major committee during some cold war crap.”

Bucky nodded. “Damn.”

“He wants me to follow him.” Steve was fiddling with his empty beer bottle, spinning it back and forth in his big long hands. “Become a politician or whatever.”

“Ew.” Bucky’s nose crinkled of its own accord.

Steve smiled. “I know, right? I just.” He shook his head. “I’m more of a solider, you know? I follow orders, I even give them sometimes, but I uh . . . politics just feels so _slimy_.”

“I know what you mean.” Bucky thought of all the people he’d had to crush to become the Vampire King.

“I can’t go against him though,” Steve said sadly.

“Is he paying for your tuition?” Bucky asked.

Steve shook his head. “I’m on a local academic scholarship. Full ride.”

Bucky grinned. “Damn son.”

One corner of Steve’s mouth twitched. “Yeah.”

“Well then, I say fuck your dad.” Bucky swallowed the last of his beer and waited until Steve looked up to meet his eyes. “Not literally of course. But I think you should do what you want. Not what he wants you to do.”

“Really?” Steve blinked, like he was surprised.

Bucky grinned, trying to squish the little seed of _something_ that was growing deep in his gut. “Really.”

*

In a slow and scary process, Bucky became a part of Steve’s life. Became a part of human life.

He saw more of Steve after that night at the bar. He had to. He had a lie to make true, didn’t he? Some kind of reputation to hold up even. He swung around the art building at night sometimes, took some other classes near Steve’s, waved to him when he saw him across the campus.

They went out for coffee a few times. Steve was on this and that deadline for papers on the military tactics of World War II and Bucky went along to help him (he’d lived through the damn war, the least he could do was give the kid some pointers). He met Clint, officially, and almost smacked him upside the head, damn what a moron.

He saw Sam and few more times. Felt almost guilty around him because it was obvious he cared for Steve. He watched him carefully, like he was afraid Steve was going to hurt himself if he didn’t. And Bucky felt guilty. Because he still wasn’t sure whether or not he was going to rip Steve’s throat out and bleed him dry. He thought about it all the time, dreamed about it even.

But something held him back. _Something_ being Steve’s eyes. Those goddamn eyes. Bucky thought about them more than he thought about killing Steve. They were so big and blue and so goddamn beautiful. Bucky just couldn’t look away. He couldn’t. And he couldn’t kill him. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how much he _wanted_ to.

Those eyes were just too beautiful to be blurred by death.                 

It took them a week to go from just friends to something else. They went on three dates in two days, all of them after hours, and Bucky realized just how hard he’d fallen for the damn kid.

They kissed two weeks after their first date. Bucky hadn’t expected it, hadn’t even wanted it – he was still afraid he might kill Steve if he let himself get too close – but damn it felt amazing. Sex came quickly after that. They’re relationship was both totally physical and not. Bucky couldn’t seem to keep his hands off Steve but he also wanted to know more about him, more about the dorky, skinny kid he’d been growing up and the nice young man he’d turned into. He wanted to know everything about Steve, all the little quirks and character flaws that made him human. All the hopes and dreams he had, all the life goals and ambitious aspirations he’d made in the dark as a little kid.

Steve told him what he wanted to know and gradually Bucky realized that maybe his thirst for Steve wasn’t just for his blood. He wanted Steve, all of Steve, not just his blood and his body.

“I’m the damn Vampire King,” he muttered to himself, smoking a cigarette on the fire escape outside Steve’s apartment. “I shouldn’t be feeling this _soft_.”

And yet, he couldn’t stop himself. Steve was amazing. Everything he’d ever wanted and yet nothing like he would have imagined. Bucky couldn’t imagine not loving him, not living a life with him day after day after day.

And as much as the thought of a life without Steve killed him, Bucky knew it might have to be. For who could ever love a monster like himself?

*

            But one person had. Little Steven Rogers, Steve’s grandfather. And when Steve took Bucky to see him, it all came rushing back.

            “I’m going to go get some coffee.” Steve squeezed Bucky’s arm and Bucky wanted to stop him, to tell him not to go and leave him with this old dying man.

“So,” Steven said once his grandson was out the door, looking at Bucky with the same blue eyes Steve looked out of every day.

Bucky leaned against the wall with his head down and his arms folded squarely over his chest. “So.” Slowly he lifted his head, a thin smile turning his lips up. “Look at you.” The smile grew as Bucky raked his eyes over the withered form of his former friend. “You survived the war after all.”

Steve’s blue eyes crinkled and cracked at the corners as he smiled at Bucky. “And you did not.”

Silence hung thickly in the air between them.

“So I don’t think you’re the hunter I’ve been hearing so much about.” Bucky peeled off the wall taking slow measured steps towards the bedside of his old friend. He could hear the blood cry of his friend, muted in his ears but still the cry of a hunter’s blood.

Steven didn’t flinch as Bucky approached, didn’t gasp or cry out when he dropped into a chair beside his bed, didn’t make a face or shudder when he grabbed his hand, folding his cold palm over Steven’s wrinkly one. His face was calm and placid, with just a touch of old amusement. For a moment, Bucky let himself fall into memories. He had memories of their place in Brooklyn. Of the scrawny kid he’d taken care of. Of the day he’d said goodbye and headed off to Germany, never to return.

“Ha.” Steven shook his head, reaching up to place his other hand on top of Bucky’s, patting it with a soft laugh. “No, I’m afraid not. These old bones haven’t been up and out of the hospital bed in more than a year.”

Bucky shook his head, holding Steven’s fingers a little tighter in his own. “I figured.” He looked away before turning back to Steven with his best lady-killer smile. “You wouldn’t happen to know who I’m after, would you?”

That made Steven laugh for real, a big belly laugh that did not befit the man’s rapidly decaying body.

“No, sir,” Steven grinned, still chuckling. “And even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you. Poor fella’s got enough to worry about without the Vampire King of New York chasing after his tail.”

Bucky looked away, cringing lightly. “Thought it was worth a shot. But none of my moves worked on you anyway.”

Steven waited until Bucky looked back at him, tightening his hand over Bucky’s palm. “That’s cause you never had to pull anything on me. I’m with you till the end of the line, pal. Always have been. Always will be.”

“You don’t mind then?” Bucky tried pulling his hands out from under Steven’s. He felt ashamed. He didn’t dream often, but when he did – and when they didn’t involve dragging Steve into his dark penthouse and kissing him senseless – he usually dreamt about Steven.

While his dreams were usually about the first time he taught sickly Steven how to ride a bike or when he nursed him back to health after a terrible winter of pneumonia, his nightmares were all about him as well. In them, Bucky was strapped to a table and Steven was poking and prodding at him, ashamed of the vampire specimen his best friend had become. In some of them, Bucky was forced to kill Steven to get away from his pitying glance and his hunter’s curiosity. In others, Steven killed Bucky, rammed a silver stake straight through his heart.

Oddly enough, whenever Bucky woke from those sorts of dreams, the only comfort was the bent and burnt dog tag Steven had given him during the war. He would pick it up from its holy place by Bucky’s bed and stare at it to remember all the days gone by.

“It’s fading.” Bucky turned Steven’s skinny arm over and ran his thumb over the pinkish hunter’s mark crisscrossing the soft little patch of skin.

“‘Cause I’m dying, jerk.” Steven pulled his arm away. “Thanks for bringing it up.”

“No you’re not.” Bucky’s slid his hand back down, sliding his fingers between Steven’s. He shook his head wildly. “You can’t.”

“Oh, but I am.” He smiled, but there was something dark and sour about it. He began coughing and had to pull his hand away from Bucky’s to cover his mouth. When he returned, his mouth was red and Bucky’s mouth began to water.

“Sorry to make you uncomfortable,” Steven apologized, ducking his head with red cheeks.

“You –” Was he actually going to cry? Was James Buchanan Barnes, the Vampire King of New York, going to cry over the death of his old friend? His old war buddy? “You’re worried about me. Even now. Even . . .”

He started laughing. Tipping his head back to laugh as long and loud as he wanted. It was liberating, that laugh. A weight Bucky hadn’t even been aware of came tumbling off his shoulders. When he looked back to Steven, he found him smiling, a patient question in his wrinkled blue eyes.

“You’re worried about me on your deathbed.” Bucky smiled as softly as he could manage, picking up Steve’s hand and holding it in both of his. “Your grandson is so much like you.”

“Isn’t he?” Steven chortled. “Practically raised the kid myself. He had a bad household . . .” Steven trailed off, looking away. When he found Bucky’s eyes again, his eyes were bright and hard. “Promise me you’ll take care of him.”

Bucky blinked. “I – what?”

“You care for him. I’m old, not blind, Bucky.” He looked toward the doorway like he was worried Steve might come through it. “And he loves you.”

“He –?” Bucky couldn’t form one coherent thought.

“So I want you to promise me that you’ll look after him.” He moved and both of his old wrinkled hands found Bucky’s and squeezed. “He is a trouble magnet, that boy. And I want him safe.” There was an odd sparkle in Steven’s eyes as he looked at Bucky, leaning forward to drop his voice into a whisper. “Do you understand me?”

“What?” His mouth was dry. “What are you saying?”

“Do whatever you have to, Bucky. To keep him safe, I give you my permission.” He squeezed Bucky’s hand one more time and let go, moving to sit back against his pillows.

“I –” What could he say to that? There were no words, in all the languages he knew, that could express his gratitude at that moment. But it was more than gratitude. It was pain and sadness and heartache, but it was also a brilliant, blinding joy.

He had maybe two seconds to feel it before Steven sighed and turned his head. The machines beside him began to beep and scream at Bucky just as Steve walked in the room.

“No!” he shouted, dropping the cups he’d been holding. “No, Grandpa!”

Bucky acted faster than he could brain could follow. He had his arm around Steve and was tugging him out the door as nurses and doctors swarmed the scene. It was a bit of a struggle, or it would have been, if Bucky wasn’t a vampire. Steve was strong, fueled by pain and adrenaline, but Bucky was stronger.

He dragged Steve into the hall and pushed him against the wall gently. Steve’s legs folded, cut from beneath him and he dropped to the floor. Bucky knelt in front of him, stroked his hair as he cried, listening as both the monitors and his friend’s heartbeat fell silent.

*

A few days later, at Steven’s funeral.

“Did you talk to him? Did he say anything?”

Bucky bit the inside of his cheek.

“No.”

*

The next few days were rough. Steve hung around the house, didn’t move, didn’t speak, didn’t do much of anything. He fell behind in his studies, his military history books lying untouched beside his bed. His easel gathered dust, his sketchpad found its way into the trashcan along with all the pencils he’d bought not a week earlier.

Bucky didn’t say anything, just fished the sketchpad and the pencils out of the trash and held them out to Steve, eyes all soft and worried.

Their six month anniversary came around and Bucky decided to make an event out of it. He felt like a teenager with a crush, but he wrote a card and baked – yeah okay he bought it, he was the damn Vampire King of New York, so what if he didn’t know how to make food – a damn cake and everything. He bought Steve a new set of paints he’d been eyeing and wrapped it in red, white, and blue colors. He made Steve stay at his place, blacked out the windows so the sunlight couldn’t hurt him. Then he waited while Steve slept. When he came in the kitchen the next morning, Bucky was sitting there, munching silently on a slice of cake. He gestured to the seat opposite him with a dark expression.

“This is a party, dammit,” he said seriously.

Steve started laughing, chuckling quietly at first, but easing into a full belly laugh when Bucky slid the present across the table towards him.

“You’re going to go home and use those.” Bucky’s voice was stern and the words came out like an order.

“Oh am I?” Steve smiled, standing up. “You want me to go right now?”

“No.” Bucky stood up and moved towards him, sliding his hands up his shirt. “First we’re going to fuck.”

*

Steve had a drawer at Bucky’s swanky penthouse. Bucky had more than that at Steve’s apartment, he had a whole fucking closet.

“I like your place better,” he breathed into Steve’s mattress. “It’s more homey.”

“That’s cause its always dark as shit at yours.” Steve flopped onto the bed beside him.

“Yeah,” Bucky consented, smiling as he reached up to ruffle Steve’s hair. If he knew _why_ it had to be so dark . . . well, they probably wouldn’t be having this conversation.

Bucky was getting restless. He wanted to tell Steve and at the same time he didn’t, didn’t want him to run. The monster wanted to keep quiet, keep Steve in the dark while never letting him leave Bucky’s side. But the human wanted to talk, to let the truth have its day and relieve the guilty weight that was a constant pressure on Bucky’s mind.

But how would that conversation even start?

“Hi, Steve. I’m your boyfriend. And a vampire. I’m your vampire-boyfriend. Love you buckets.”

Good God.

So Bucky gave in to the monster. He kept quiet while trying his hardest to keep Steve unaware of the things he did at night.

But Steve was too smart.

“What’s up?” he asked one night after Bucky had gotten a call during dinner.

“Something’s come up,” he said shortly, shrugging on his jacket and heading for the door. “I have to go to work.”

“You’ve got a class in ten minutes . . .” Steve followed him to the door, furrow forming between his brows.

“I’ll have to miss it.” Bucky didn’t feel too bad about missing another night seminar on the human psychology. No fucking thank you.

The call was from his aid, Dugan, about a vampire dignitary who’d flown in from Chicago. He and Bucky had some things to talk about, a deal to make, plans to arrange.

New York was generally regarded as faerie territory as Central Park was a major fault line on the faerie radar. Chicago had several old werewolf families dating back to the industrial age from tainted werewolf meat packaged and passed off as pig meat. Vampires were everywhere and, being the most dominant group, were kind of moot point in most discussions.

Every once in a while areas got overpopulated, started drawing too much human attention. The underworld only worked as long as its secrets stayed secret, so leaders occasionally made “exchanges” relocating different groups to areas more suited to their kind. As it was, Chicago’s vampire leader was having a faerie problem and wanted to discuss a way to move some of them into Central Park.

“Hold up. Buck.” Steve caught his sleeve as Bucky opened the door, stopping him with one foot out of the threshold. “What’s up? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Bucky turned to him with a forced smile.

Meeting with other vampire dignitaries always made Bucky nervous. He was a relatively new vampire, only ninety something years old. Not much compared to the hundreds of years some of the other leaders had on them. Most were impressed with him, at how easily he’d taken New York and just how young he’d been when he did – he’d been thirty, technically, not that much older than he’d been when he’d actually gone to war. But some were ruthless, trying to capitalize on his youth and take New York out from under him.

Now that Bucky had a weakness, Steve, it made him even more nervous. He wasn’t about to lose New York, or _Steve_ for that matter, to some old prick who didn’t know Broadway from Times Square.

“I’m fine.”

But Steve didn’t buy it.

“Buck –”

“Just leave me alone!” Bucky pushed him too hard. Steve slammed against the opposite wall, his body leaving a small dent in the plaster. He fell to his knees, blinking up at Bucky with his big blue Bambi eyes. Bucky ran out the door, biting the inside of his cheek to try and force the guilt down.

Steve was asleep when he came back. Bucky stripped slowly, trying to be loud enough so Steve would hear him, but not loud enough to wake him up completely. He wanted Steve to hear him so he could push Bucky away if he wanted to, if he was mad at him – which he had every right to be. But the idiot just shifted to his side, blinking up at Bucky sleepily.

“Hi,” he breathed as Bucky crawled slowly into bed.

“Hi,” he answered, kissing him softly.

Bucky was a bit more careful after that.

*

His search for the hunter was pretty much abandoned until one day when Steve took Bucky to meet his friend Tony Stark. Bucky knew who he was of course. He was an uber rich kid working for his father’s company while double majoring in technical engineering and advanced robotics at Colombia. Bucky held Steve’s hand as they walked up to Tony’s apartment, a whole floor in his father’s swanky office tower. Something scratched at Bucky’s ears as they got closer and closer to Tony’s floor. It was a hint of a blood-song, very faint and undefined, but getting louder the closer they got to Tony’s room.

It burst into full volume when the door opened, revealing the man himself.

“Hey, Tony! This is –” Steve couldn’t even get a word out.

“Shit.” Tony’s face was totally white. Bucky could see the veins in his neck, dark blue and thumping with his rapidly rising heartbeat. “Oh shit, Steve.”

“What?” Steve stepped forward, dropping Bucky’s arm and moving toward Tony. “Are you okay?”

 _Obviously not_ , Bucky thought with mild indifference. _Maybe he’s having a heart attack. That would be interesting to watch._

But there was a look in his eye, a dark delicious fear that made his hands shake and Bucky’s mouth water. Bucky recognized it a second too late.

He reached for Steve’s hand, but Tony had already caught him, pulling him through the doorway with both hands fisted in the material of his jacket.

“Tony, wha-!” Steve cried, tumbling onto the floor just inside the threshold.

Bucky froze, caught between his fight or flight instincts. “Hunter,” he breathed, too soft for Steve to hear.

“In the flesh,” Tony growled, hand going to his waist.

“What was all that about?” Steve asked as he picked himself up off the floor. “Tony, are you – What the hell!” He shouted as the hunter pulled out a knife and made like he was going to lunge at Bucky.

“A knife?” Bucky scoffed as the hunter advanced, toes brushing the thin wooden threshold that kept him safe. “You serious?”

“It may not kill you,” Tony scowled. “But that doesn’t mean it won’t hurt.”

“Tony!” Steve was frozen in the doorway behind him, eyes going from his hunter friend to Bucky. They were too bright, too blue in the darkened doorway and Bucky had to look away. The idiot was worried about him, _worried_ about Bucky, the damn vampire! It made his heart swell at the same time it made him sick. “Tony, stop!”

“Make your move, hunter.” Bucky flashed Tony a dark fanged grin, glad that Steve was too far back behind him to see his smile. “Come outside and we can brawl real good.”

“You leave Steve alone.” Tony swayed towards him, staying just inside the threshold.

“Or what?” Bucky shifted his gaze back to Steve and saw his eyes widening, slipping down to trace over Bucky’s mouth. “You’ll make me?” he taunted.

“Worse,” said Tony, narrowing his eyes. “I’ll kill you.”

Bucky grinned and closed his eyes, letting the song of Tony’s blood wash over him. He could hear it now. His blood was singing, calling out to Bucky with the siren song every hunter’s blood gave off. How had he not noticed before? This must’ve been the hunter he sensed, the one Natasha had warned him about.

“Come outside,” Bucky said, stepping back out of Steve’s line of sight. He smiled, keeping his fangs in check and licked his lips. “It’s been a while since I’ve tasted hunter blood.”

“What?” Steve was still behind Tony, his eyes growing wider and wider as bits and pieces of the exchange floated back to him. He shook his head, blue eyes wide and disbelieving. “What, Bucky?”

Tony growled, stretching against the threshold. “And you know what? It’ll be a while still.”

 _That’s right, dick_ , Bucky thought as he continued to stretch forward, his hunter’s fight instinct warring with the desire to stay behind the threshold’s protective barrier. _Come to me_. Bucky studiously ignored Steve’s presence back behind Tony’s shoulder; he would deal with him later. _Come to me . . ._

He was lunging, moving forward with burning eyes. Bucky backed up, giving him more space for his swing. He was imagining what his blood would taste like, what kind of high it would give him. At the same time, though, his mind was racing, trying to come up with an explanation that would justify his actions to Steve.

“Tony!” Steve shouted, grabbing his arm as he moved out of the threshold swinging the knife in a wild arc. “Tony, stop!”

 _No, idiot_ , Bucky thought, curling his lips up in a deadly hiss. _Let him come. I want to taste him, taste his delicious hunter’s blood._

Tony whirled, back against the hallway wall. He stretched so he was between both Steve and Bucky, keeping his knife arm aimed at Bucky’s chest while he looked toward Steve, addressing him in a cold voice.

“Stay back, Steve.” Bucky didn’t know a human’s voice could be so cold, so deadly. “This doesn’t concern you.”

“That’s my boyfriend!” he shouted, moving like he was going to step towards Bucky.

“Oh, is he?” Tony turned, grabbing Steve’s arm before he could take even one step towards Bucky. “Did he tell you what kind of monster he is, too? Or did you let him fuck you without even once asking where he came from?”

“Tony!” Steve blanched, trying to shrug off his friend’s arm.

“Let him go.” Bucky held his arm out, trying to force down his bloodlust.

Desire was rising in him. He wanted nothing more than to sink his fangs in that hunter’s jugular and drain him dry, watch him beg, watch him die. But at the same time, Steve was _right there_. He was finally getting a hold of himself, shaking his head and looking towards his boyfriend. _You can’t let him see_ , he thought to himself, backing away from the hunter with a hand covering his mouth. _You let him see, you’ll have to kill him too. And you can’t do that._

_Don’t scare Steve. Don’t scare Steve. Scare him and it’s over. Let him see and he’s as dead as this hunter._

But it was _hard_.

“Bucky!” Steve was still struggling with tony, trying to force the knife out of his hand at the same time he was trying to break his grip.

Bucky looked at him, layering his face with an expression of fake fear. _It’s a trick of the light,_ he thought. _The fangs, the words . . . you didn’t see them, didn’t hear them. They’re a trick of the light. Too much adrenaline or too little._

“Get out of here!” Steve shouted, unable to break Tony’s hardened grip. “Just go!”

Bucky took a few steps back, shaking his head furiously. “No! Not without you!”

It was the right thing to say. Bucky watched happiness bloom on Steve’s face with an odd sense of pride. The idiot really cared for him.

But of course, he couldn’t let Steve stay. The minute Bucky turned his back that damn hunter would tell him everything and Bucky wasn’t ready for him to know. In reality, he didn’t think he’d ever be ready to tell Steve. He didn’t want Steve looking at him the same way that hunter was; fear mixed with dread mixed with a dark hatred that ran almost blood-deep. Regardless, Bucky sure as hell didn’t want Steve to find out via Tony. That hunter would destroy him in Steve’s eyes and it would all be over. He would have to kill him or turn him or . . . He didn’t want to think about what would happen. He didn’t want to let Steve go, didn’t want to think about what would happen if he saw _Steve_ coming at him stake in hand.

The thought almost broke his will right then and there.

But saying that, those few innocuous words – “No, not without you!” – now _that_ was genius. Bucky watched Steve’s heart melt right in front of him and had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. _I’ve got you, boy_ , he thought, holding his arm out in Steve’s direction. _In the palm of my hand_. The thought gave Bucky an odd thrill of power, kept the raging bloodlust down to a minimum. It also made his heart swell with . . . love? Was that love? Love, lust, it didn’t matter. Not yet. He could sort his heart out later when Steve was safe in his arms.

After a brief struggle, Steve managed to pull the knife out of Tony’s hands. He tossed it away, looking at his friend with a mixture of worry and disgust.

“Lay off the booze, Tony,” he said, moving towards Bucky’s open arms. “And be glad we’re not going to press assault charges.”

Bucky bit back his smile. When Steve was close enough, Bucky folded his arms around him, wrapping an arm tightly around his waist. He pulled him into his side, looking back over his shoulder towards Tony. The hunter was picking himself up off the ground, following the two with wide fearful eyes.

Bucky’s next move was a bad idea. He knew it too. But he couldn’t stop himself, couldn’t resist the urge to flash his power in front of the hunter’s face.

He opened his mouth in a wide, toothy grin, letting his fangs slid down to rest on his lower lip. He moved his head, tipping it right beside Steve’s face, fangs so close to pale delicious skin.

Bucky’s smile found its mark. He watched fear and anger erupt along the fault lines of Tony’s face, watched him move almost too fast towards the knife Steve had kicked away and then back towards his friend’s back.

“No!” he shouted, scrambling towards Steve and Bucky. “I won’t let you!”

Bucky dropped his arm and turned, bracing himself for the impact of the hunter’s lunge. But Tony wasn’t aiming for him. He had a whole different idea in mind. By the time Bucky realized his plan it was far too late. He could only watch as Tony tackled his friend hooking his arm around Steve’s neck and pulling him away from Bucky.

“Hey!” Steve choked, reaching back to try and dislodge Tony’s grip. “Are you crazy?”

“No.” Tony hissed, holding Steve’s neck with an unnaturally strong grip. “Just desperate.”

Something glittered in Tony’s left hand and Bucky growled, taking a menacing step forward.

“Don’t!” he shouted, but Tony had already raised the knife, slicing it across Steve’s arm in one clean movement.

“Tony!” he shouted, face twisting in pain as Tony released him. “What the hell!” He fell onto his knees, cradling his injured arm in towards his chest. “What is wrong with you?!”

“What’s wrong with _me_?” The hunter’s grin was wild and savage as he lifted his gaze to Bucky’s, dropping the knife and backing away from Steve with his arms splayed wide at his sides. “Nothing’s wrong with me. It’s your boyfriend over there that’s got a problem.”

“What?” Steve looked up at Bucky, blue eyes wide and dark with pain, fear, and something else Bucky couldn’t quite make out. “Bucky . . .?”

Bucky was staring at him with his mouth open, watching the blood seep from the cut on Steve’s arm with delicious slowness. Steve shifted onto his feet and Bucky backed away, watching Steve try and press the broken line of skin back together. His mouth was open, a pained furrow etched between his blonde brows.

“Wha . . .?” He couldn’t seem to get the words out. He just stood there, blinking as Bucky’s bloodlust rose like a wave within him.

“I’m sorry, Steve.” Tony was watching Steve too, peeling his gaze away from the injured blonde to grin at Bucky with a darkness reminiscent of a vampire’s. “You’ll understand why later. But I had to show. I couldn’t let you become his thrall.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Steve swallowed and Bucky’s gaze shifted from his bloody arm up to his throat.

Bucky could see his blood, could smell it, hell, he could almost _taste_ it. Closing his eyes, he opened his mouth letting the smell bleed onto his tongue. He was so close. Bucky had only to reach out, grab Steve’s arm, and tip his head back. The movement was simple enough, Bucky had done it only a thousand times on a thousand different humans.

But this was Steve. Steve fucking Rogers and it was different. Everything was different with him. Bucky couldn’t think, couldn’t function like a proper vampire when he was around him, damn him.

Steve cringed and Bucky stepped forward, concerning warring with his own basic primal instinct. “Bucky?” his voice was tinged with pain and . . . something else. His eyes were wide on Bucky’s face. His skin burned wherever Steve’s gaze landed.

 _Oh no_. Bucky’s heart dropped as he watched Tony’s paleness, his fear and his agony, bloom on Steve’s bright handsome face. _No, no, no. He’s not supposed to be like that. He’s not supposed to fear me. He’s not . . ._

“What the hell?” Steve stepped backward, tripping over his feet with his injured arm cradled closer to his chest. “Bucky?”

“I’m sorry, Steve.” Tony was right behind him, hooking his arm around Steve’s shoulder and pushing him back towards his open door. “It’s shocking, I know. The first taste of the underworld always is.”

“Oh God.” Bucky watched Steve’s face darken with a sinking heart. The uninjured arm moved up to his face, fingers playing with his lips. “Are those . . .?” His voice trailed off into silence.

Bucky liked his lips. Something sharp pricked his tongue and Bucky cursed hanging his head. “Damn,” he breathed.

“Bucky?” Steve’s voice was small, almost childlike, full of all the youth and innocence Bucky had fallen in love with. “What –?” He couldn’t seem to form words. They fell like weights from his dead lips, splashing into silence.

Bucky shook his head, mashing his lips together in an attempt to press his fangs back into his gums. “Steve,” he said, voice rough with bloodlust. “This isn’t . . .”

What could he say? There was nothing, no words he knew that would ease the fear from Steve’s face. Any attempt at conversation might even make things worse, considering how close Bucky was to screwing it all and burying his face in Steve’s pale open neck.

“Get in the doorway.” Tony continued to push him back, farther and farther out of Bucky’s reach. “Go! He’s going to snap soon.”

“No, stop!” Steve fought weakly against Tony, caught between his love for Bucky and the new deadly fear he felt. “What’s wrong with him?” he asked, injured arm pinned against his chest. “Bucky? Bucky!”

Bucky closed his eyes and turned away. As much as he hated to admit it, the hunter was right. He was going to snap soon. He needed to get out, he needed too . . .

“BUCKY!” Steve broke away from Tony, running towards him.

He listened to the sound of Steve’s heartbeat drawing closer and closer. God, that heart. That strong beating heart was so close now. So fucking close. And then it was there, right behind him and beating so loud Bucky could barely hear himself think.

“Buck?” Steve’s hand reached for him, but before he made contact he was being pushed backwards, shoved against the wall with Bucky’s hand around his throat. He pushed him up until his feet were no longer touching the ground. Bucky held him there, watching Steve’s legs dangle uselessly, hands coming up to hold his throat over Bucky’s grip.

Bucky felt the usual surge of power, felt it boiling in his veins hotter than Steve’s touch and his gaze.

 _This_ _is what bloodlust feels like_ , Bucky thought, leaning forward. His nose was at Steve’s collarbone, sniffing the skin there and tracing up the long column of his neck. He could feel his old self returning, the savage beast, the monster he’d been before he’d met Steve. The monster he still was when Steve wasn’t around. He _was_ the Vampire King of New York. To pretend otherwise was a joke.

But Steve wasn’t a target. He wasn’t a meal or a ticket or a pawn to be used and thrown away. He wasn’t anything but ordinary and Bucky just couldn’t kill him.

“Bucky?” Steve gasped, face leeching of all its remaining color. His fingers were numb and bloodless on top of Bucky’s; he could hear the blood draining out of them.

Slowly, Bucky set him down, resting him so his feet were firmly on the ground. When he went to uncurl his fingers from around Steve’s throat, he found the beastly part of him resisting, whispering to just drain the boy and be done with it.

But apparently Bucky wasn’t the only one fighting to save Steve. He felt Tony’s presence behind his back a second before the hunter lunged, slamming his knife into the wall where Bucky had been standing moments before. Bucky released Steve completely and backed away, fangs out but palms open in surrender.

“Back up, bloodsucker!” Tony growled, kneeling at Steve’s side. “You can’t have him.”

Bucky shook his head, taking several deep breathes to calm himself. “He was never my thrall.” Bucky looked only at Steve as he spoke, fangs sliding down to pierce his lower lip. “I would never do that to him.”

“Yeah, right.” The hunter was really starting to get on Bucky’s nerves. “You’re a monster just like the rest of your kind.”

“I could say the same thing about you, pal.” Bucky flashed the hunter his coldest smile. “Hunters, my ass. You’re all just a bunch of pyschopaths with stakes.”

“But we’re good!” Tony bared his teeth at Bucky in a mockery of a vampire’s smile.

“So am I.” Bucky shifted his eyes to Steve’s. “When I’m with him, I’m the best good there is.”

And with that Bucky dropped out of sight, launching himself down the hall before Tony or Steve could register his movements. As soon as he hit the city street he burst into a sprint, draining three people on his way to Steve’s apartment.

 _I’ll give him a day. If he’s not back by then, I go in after him, hunter be damned_ , he thought. _Until then, I’ll wait and hope to God he’s not too scared of me to come back._

But Bucky hadn’t counted on just how hungry he would be. He left Steve’s apartment three times to find a meal and dumped each body (even the ones still half alive) in the Hudson.

He called Natasha using some business man’s phone. “So you found the hunter?”

“Yeah.” Bucky wiped his mouth, lounging on the fire escape of a building not far from Steve’s. “But, unfortunately, he also found me.”

“That’s not like you,” she chided him. “Where you with mysterious Mr. Boyfriend?”

Bucky closed his eyes. His silence was enough of an answer.

“Dammit, James. You’re getting sloppy.”

“I can’t help it.” Bucky dropped his head, rubbing his hands tiredly over his face. “It’s this damn kid. . .”

“The Vampire King of New York.” Natasha sounded like she was trying very hard not to laugh at him. “Brought to his knees by a little boy.”

“Shut up.” He desperately wished her words weren’t true.

But then he thought of Steve and his beautiful sleepy smile. Of his broad shoulders, of his baby blue eyes. Of his easel and his sketchbook and the beautiful drawings that seemed to leap out of his fingers and onto the page. Of his sharp wit and kind disposition. Of his tender soul and forgiving nature. Of his face and his smile when he looked at Bucky.

Steve hadn’t done anything but go out of his way to make Bucky happy since the day he’d met him. And if anybody deserved to be happy, it sure as hell wasn’t James Buchanan Barnes. Yet every day he woke up with Steve in his arms, he was. He was the best kind of happy, a pure and wonderful happy that lit up his insides and made his dead heart beat again.

However.

There were times when Bucky felt that Steve had seen through his little charade. He’d worried about that a lot at first. Had gone out of his way to make sure Steve didn’t see anything but the rich kid he was pretending to be. But still . . .

Steve always had a way of seeing more of Bucky than he would have liked. And he’d stayed. He’d fucking stayed. The idiot had stayed, despite everything.

            “I –” Bucky knew what he had to say. “I love him.”

            The words came easily. As soon as he said them, he took a quick look around, making sure there was no one around to hear his declaration. “Love” was not an expression that would sit well on the reputation of the Vampire King.

            “You do not.” Natasha’s voice was hushed, almost reverent.

            “I do.” The Vampire King scrubbed his face in his hands again, letting the breeze from the rooftops ruffle his hair. “I really do.”

            “Go to bed, blood brain. You’re not thinking straight.” He could almost hear the smile in her voice. She was happy for him. Surprised, but happy.

            Bucky smiled into the phone and clicked it shut, tossing it into the river after the body of its owner. _I’m still a monster_ , he thought, watching it sail into the dark blue water. _But I’m better with him._  

*

            The sun was just coming up when Bucky reached Steve’s apartment. He crawled off the rooftops, pausing on the fire escape to check that the city streets were still dark. He saw a dark haired man walking away from Steve’s apartment, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his black coat.

 _Hunter_.

Bucky’s lip curled. He swayed on the fire escape, listening to the call of Tony’s blood. But then he rounded the corner and the song dropped off sharply, clearing Bucky’s head.

            He closed his eyes and turned to Steve’s window, surprised to find it already open. He moved toward it, reaching his hand out for the opening when –

            Frowning, Bucky tried again, scowling when his hand refused to go through the open window. “What the –?”

            “Tony said you wouldn’t be able to come in.” A voice drifted out of the shadows of Steve’s bedroom.

Bucky jumped – he fucking _jumped_. Man, he really was losing his cool – when Steve stepped forward so his face was in the window’s opening. Bucky rocked back on his heels, eyes all over Steve.

“No.” He tried again to push through the window. “No, no, Steve you didn’t.”

“I didn’t do anything.” Steve was so close, looking down with his lower lip crunched between his teeth. “Tony did . . .”

“What? He did what?” Bucky was _thisclose_ to growling. He had half a mind to stand outside the fucker’s apartment and drain everyone that walked by. That would be enough of a challenge, for sure. He would have to come out and fight. “What did that damn hunter do?”

“He’s got a name, you know.” Steve sat back, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “He did . . .” He looked at Bucky then away, blue eyes dimmed and blurry. “ _Something_. I don’t know.”

“What did he tell you?” Bucky was almost too afraid to ask, and he could tell by the slow way Steve turned his head that he was almost too afraid to answer.

“He told me you’re a monster.” His gaze was a silent challenge and a hope that Bucky could prove him wrong.

Bucky looked away. “He’s right.”

The bedsprings creaked as Steve bent forward, resting his head in his hands.

“God.” He tried again to move forward, but the invisible barrier stopped him once more. “Steve,” he breathed, dropping his hand. “You look terrible.”

The blonde laughed grimly, taking a seat on his bed positioned not far from the window. “I feel terrible. No thanks to you.”

Bucky’s heart dropped like a dead weight in his chest. He moved forward again, straining to get closer to Steve’s injured form. “Steve, let me in.”

But he merely shook his head, pulse pounding rapidly at his throat, mere inches away from Bucky’s mouth. “I can’t do that.”

“Steve, hey. Look at me.” He didn’t look. “Steve? Steve!”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He swallowed hard, throat and jaw working against some emotion he didn’t want Bucky to see.

“That’s not important right now. You need to let me in, Steve. Let me in so I can –” Bucky tried to moderate the panic in his tone but Steve heard it anyway. 

“Don’t!” Steve stumbled off the bed and Bucky followed his movements, shifting uneasily on the balls of his feet. Steve stood and moved away, putting several feet of space between them. “Don’t tell me what to do,” he said in a softer tone.

“Steve,” Bucky crooned softly, moving as close to Steve as he could get. “Steve, look. I’m sorry –”

“No, you’re not.” Steve cut him off, shaking his head tiredly. “You were never planning to tell me.

“Steve . . .” He was right though and nothing Bucky could say would change that.

“You need to go.” He sat back down on his bed, arms crossed over his chest defensively.

Bucky immediately shook his head. “No. I’m not going anywhere until you’ve get that cut checked out.”

“It’s fine.” Steve tried waving him off, but Bucky didn’t fall for it.

“No it’s not,” he said, leaning forward. He whispered curses in Russian when he hit that accursed barrier, settling back on his heels with a heavy scowl. “Steve, _I_ _know_ okay.” He waited until Steve looked at him, blasting him with the full force of his glare. “That wound’s going to get infected if you don’t get it looked at.”

Steve looked at him. “Why do you care?” he asked with a tone that was obviously him trying to sound mean and vicious. “Or do you just want to make sure my blood’s okay for when you drink me dry?”

“It’s not like that.” Bucky shook his head fiercely. “Steve –”

“You sure?” Steve collapsed onto his back on the bed, hands shaking a little at his sides.

“Steve.” Bucky’s voice was low and soft, almost pleading. He could hear the quiver in his voice, the fear and the pain and the deep, dark hurt.

“You should go,” Steve said again without looking at Bucky. “Please, Bucky. Just-”

Steve looked up and Bucky could see that he wasn’t the only one suffering. “Just go,” he said in a low, tired voice, turning away.

*

            Bucky came by every day after that. Sometimes he came later when Steve was dreaming, sleeping peacefully just inches away. Other times Steve was awake when Bucky dropped by and they would talk. Nothing serious. They stayed away from any topics that might disrupt the gentle balance they’d found, topics involving Tony Stark or Bucky’s nefarious nighttime activities.

It was like they were meeting each other anew. Steve was learning, trying to live with the fact that Bucky was, indeed, a monster. And Bucky was dying, so close to Steve yet unable to do anything but watch him struggle with his own emotions.

“You still love me, right?” he asked one night, sitting so close to Steve that he could see the perfect bow of his mouth and the shimmering glow of his eyes.

“I don’t know.” Steve answered honestly. “I just don’t know.”

And so they tried to find peace. Bucky tried to hold back the monster sleeping inside him while Steve tried to find room in his heart to love Bucky again.

But, of course, there was always trouble.

Steve was watching the news one night with Bucky behind his shoulder when the face of a man he’d drained earlier flashed up on the screen.

“BUCKY!” Steve was up, pacing the length of his small room with his hands fisted in his hair.

“I’m a vampire, Steve!” At the window, Bucky strained against the barrier that kept him and Steve separate. “It’s in my nature!”

Steve kept his window shut for a few nights after that.

But when Bucky came to the window with Steve’s favorite rolls from a little bakery down the street, he relented, opening the window just wide enough for Bucky to slide the rolls through.

Three weeks passed like that. Then Bucky got low and viciously desperate. He started trying to pry the window open with his bare hands, pleading with Steve to let him in, just let him in.

“I can’t.” Steve had pulled his bed right beneath the window and was sitting on it with a little silver knife resting on the nightstand beside him. “I just can’t.”

“I won’t hurt you.” Bucky dropped his voice into the low baritone he knew was guaranteed to make Steve whimper. “Please, Steve. I’m trying to protect you.”

“By lying to me?” Steve looked like he wanted to believe Bucky.

“I had to.” He said it like it was the truth.

But Bucky was losing. The human inside of him was fighting an uphill battle and Bucky wasn’t sure he was going to make it. He had half a mind to turn on his vampire charm and seduce his way into Steve’s room.

“I’m sorry.” Steve turned away, leaving the knife on the windowsill. “I’m so sorry.”

The next night was the worst. Bucky cringed remembering it. He couldn’t believe he’d let himself get so weak, couldn’t believe he had it in him to hurt Steve like that.

Steve was sleeping when he arrived but the window was open, so Bucky sat on the fire escape and whispered to Steve in Russian, Italian, German, and every other language he knew. It wasn’t fair of him, and he knew it. He watched Steve sit up, still sleeping, and move towards the window.

Bucky was a vampire of many talents and one of them was the art of blood calling. Not only could he hear the telltale song of a hunter’s blood, but he could sing to other humans, make them obey his will. To an extent, of course. The human survival instinct was an impressive thing, but with the right amount of pressure, a human could turn against their instincts and run towards danger, embrace it like Steve embraced Bucky.

He moved so he was half out of the window, just barely inside the room. And then he opened his eyes, blinking in surprise when he saw just how close he was to Bucky.

“Crap,” he gasped, falling forward unsteadily. His hands found Bucky’s shoulders and he pressed down, trying to find some sort of balance before he fell completely out the window. “Oh my God, I’m –”

Bucky cut him off with a kiss, folding his lips over Steve’s and sucking all the air, all the life, all the hope right out of him. His hands went to Steve’s hair, fisted and pulled, tugged and twisted. Then they slid down to Steve’s butt, sliding into the back pocket of his jeans – he’d fallen asleep with clothes on, what a dork – yanking him forward completely out of the window and into Bucky’s arms.

“Oh God.” Steve was trying to speak against Bucky’s mouth. His hands were fisted in the material of Bucky’s dress shirt, massaging the cold skin just beneath the fabric. “Oh God, Bucky.”

“Shhh, Stevie.” Bucky dug his mouth into Steve’s, cupping Steve’s face and turning his head this way and that to get a better angle. “Shhh, it’s alright.”

“Bucky.” Their lips parted. “Bucky.” They came back together, meshing easily and fearlessly like nothing had changed between them.

Then, in a whisper so low Bucky almost didn’t hear it, “I missed you.”

His mouth had moved to just below Steve’s jaw and it curled into a grin that pressed right up against Steve’s skin. “I know you did,” he said, kissing his way back up to Steve’s mouth. “I know. I know. But it’s okay now. We’re together.”

“Bucky . . .” Steve tried to duck his head away from Bucky’s lips, cheeks blushing a bright and furious red.

But Bucky didn’t want to be without his lips for more than a minute, more than a second. “No,” he breathed into the kiss, jerking Steve’s head up and into his hands. “Stay with me. Stay . . .”

There was tongue and teeth and then fang involved. Bucky’s hands were on Steve’s throat, gently stroking at the white column of skin when they came out, sliding against Steve’s lower lip and slicing it clean open.

The moron didn’t even notice at first. Steve’s instinct of self-preservation was depressingly nonfunctional, Bucky thought as he ground his mouth down harder into Steve’s. When everything in him should’ve been screaming to stay away from Bucky, Steve just got closer and closer until he was all Bucky could see, think, or feel.

And damn if it didn’t feel good.

Steve was just starting to peel back, his tongue licking curiously over his own blood-wet lips when Bucky made his move. He tilted Steve’s head to the side, enjoying the feel of his hands as they slid to rest on top of Bucky’s and the quiet little gasping sound that came out of his mouth. Fangs out and ready, he rested his mouth just above Steve’s pulse point, licking the skin and feeling it bounce right there on his tongue.

“Let me in, Steve,” he whispered, keeping his mouth as close to Steve’s skin as he could. “Or I will turn you right now.”

Steve’s whole body went still. Bucky couldn’t help but grin into Steve’s neck.

“What –?” His voice was low and breathy and sweet music to Bucky’s ears. “Buck, what are you –?”

“I’m sure Tony’s been telling you all about my kind,” he breathed, smiling against the goose bumps that popped up along Steve’s skin. “Warning you to stay away, stay away! Or better yet, kill me and have the threat eliminated.”

Steve tried shaking his head. “Bucky –”

“I would’ve compelled you by now, but my blood song can only do so much,” Bucky continued, voice light and easy. “I can’t make you let me in. Can’t force the words out of your mouth by mind-tricking you. But there are other ways . . .” He let the devious grin on Steve’s neck finish the sentence for him.

“Buck.” Steve was gasping, his pulse beating faster and faster against Bucky’s mouth. “Stop. Lemme go.”

“I will turn you.” Bucky bit Steve’s skin with his regular teeth, softly grinding the skin between his back molars. “One bite and a sip of my blood and you’re mine, Stevie. Mine forever.”

Steve’s hands tightened outside of Bucky’s. “Wait.”

“I just want you to let me in.” He released the skin and started kissing it, pressing long open-mouthed kisses up and down his throat. “That’s it. I want to be with you again. I don’t want to have this damned window between us.”

“Bucky, I –” Bucky felt him swallow, traced his mouth down the column of his throat as he did.

“But I can turn you too. The minute you’re a vampire, this –” he waved his hand at Steve’s apartment window “– becomes public property. And then I’m free to come and go as I please.”

“Bucky, let’s talk about this.” Steve’s voice was deliciously frightened.                    

“Yes, let’s.” Bucky pressed a kiss beneath Steve’s chin, mouthing the soft skin beside his jaw. “But the sun’s going to come up soon. And I feel this conversation is more indoor-appropriate.” Meaning the minute Steve let him in, he was going to pound him into the bed for the next three weeks at least.

“Buck.” There was something close to pain, something close to fear and agony and shame in Steve’s voice. All the emotion roiling there, all the sadness working its way up through Steve’s body and into Bucky’s mouth gave his old dead vampire heart pause.

But not enough to sway him from his plan.

“Final answer?” _I love you more than life itself_ , Bucky thought, pressing his lips into Steve’s skin. _And I’m going to give you what you deserve._

But Steve never got a chance to answer.

Because suddenly Bucky’s palm was burning and he was screaming, dropping his hands away from Steve’s face and launching himself backwards off the fire escape. He landed on the roof of the opposite building, just a couple stories down from Steve’s apartment window. He looked up, holding his burning hand to his chest, and watched Steve crawl back in through his apartment window, silver knife flashing in between his fingers.

“Why?” Bucky was back at Steve’s window before he could shut it, reaching out like he was going to try and draw Steve back outside. “Why’d you –?”

“I love you.” Steve was crying, big tears almost as blue as his goddamn blue eyes. He held the knife out, point end facing Bucky. “Damn it, Buck. I really do.”

“Steve?” Bucky was shaking some of the lust out of his eyes. His anger and bloodlust was fading as he watched his boyfriend collapse in on and himself, shivering and sobbing just inches away from him.

“But I can’t handle you anymore.” He moved to the window and sighed in shuddery breaths, sliding the knife out to rest along the border that kept them separate. “You’re not . . .” He turned away, face twisted in agony. “You’re not the man I love anymore. You’re –”

“I’m the monster.” Bucky didn’t want to hear him say it. Didn’t want to hear the word _monster_ leave Steve’s pretty, pretty mouth.

“And I love that part of you too, but I –” He shook his head. “I just can’t take it, Bucky. I can’t.” He raised his hands, resting them on the window before he tugged it shut after whispering, “Come back when you’ve found the Bucky I know.”

It was bad, very bad after that.

Bucky nearly lost it, nearly lost himself. He almost started a turf war with the local werewolf pack, very nearly executed three Yao Ming wizards for harvesting sap in the middle of Central Park _in broad daylight,_ and came this close to starting a murderous rampage that would’ve put Jack the Ripper to shame.

But he didn’t.

Because he wanted to be better.

For Steve.

Obviously, he wasn’t perfect. He sentenced a pair of Gatherer Wizards to death for taking human organs without a license, imprisoned three men of his own kind for “reckless human exposure” and okayed the destruction of a faerie circle in Central Park that was getting too much attention. But he was trying.

He knew he would never fully tame the monster. There would be times – oh so many times – where he would rear his ugly head and resurface. But Bucky knew he would do whatever it would take to force him back down and to make sure he didn’t hurt Steve the way he had that night.

Slowly, he got better. He gave Steve his distance and tried his damndest to keep everything supernatural away from his building. He visited Steve when he was dead asleep, staring at him and willing the monstrous side of him to sit down and keep quiet. One night, he went to the window and found it open, but no Steve in sight.

Growing worried, Bucky dropped off the fire escape and reached his hand into his pocket. “Nat?” He fished out his phone and dialed her number, holding the phone to his ear as he scoured the streets for his human (Bucky absolutely _refused_ to call Steve his ex). “I’m gonna need your help.”

“Oh?” she laughed. “Do tell, Vampire King.”

Bucky sighed, scrubbing his hand down his face. “I’ve been locked out. I need you to get an invite from Steve so you can let me in.”

“Trouble in paradise?” she giggled. She actually motherfucking giggled. Bucky was so going to kill her.

Bucky ducked his head down and rubbed his jaw. “I guess you could say that.”

A sharp clatter from a nearby alley caught Bucky’s attention.

“Gotta go,” he said into the phone before clicking it shut. He stole silently towards the alley’s entrance, pressing his back against the brick alley way. He closed his eyes as the hunter’s – Tony’s – blood call washed over him, ringing in his ears and sending shivers down his spine.

 _Finally_ , he thought. _The little mouse has come out to play._

He peered around the alley corner, swearing low under his breathe when he saw who was standing behind the hunter, silver knife in hand.

“This is a bad idea, Tony,” he said looking around nervously. Steve. Fucking Steve. The precious baby angel God had sent to make Bucky’s life a living hell was standing with his back to Bucky, not far from Tony’s side. “I’m only going to get you killed,” he continued and Bucky resisted the urge to grab him before Stark saw and drag him back to his apartment.

“You’re just here to watch my back, Steve.” Tony turned, scanning the whole alley and Bucky backed around the corner. He listened to their conversation with narrowed eyes as the two moved on down the alleyway.

“But, Tony –”

“No, buts!” he said harshly and Bucky hissed low in his throat. “You need this. You need to see how easy it is to kill these monsters.”

“But why?” Steve’s voice was low and quiet, sounding an awful lot like the pout of a petulant child.

“‘Cause you need to be ready.” Stark’s voice was hard and unforgiving. “If your boyfriend shows his face again, you _have_ to kill him. Just like we practiced.”

Bucky’s dead heart became a solid block of ice in the middle of his chest. _Like they’d practiced_ , he thought. _Tony’s training him to become a hunter._

“I . . .” Bucky listened to Steve’s wavering voice and the pain, raw and real, that sat behind this words. “I don’t know if I can.”

“Honestly, Steve.” There was a harsh crack and a sound like shuffling feet. When Bucky dared to look around the corner, he saw Steve up against the alley wall with Tony an angry, glaring presence in front of him.

“You’re not going to have a choice,” he growled. “Your boy is dangerous. The next time he sees you he’s gonna bleed you dry without a hint of remorse.”

Bucky had to fight the urge to reduce Tony’s head to a red pulp under his hand as he listened to him.

“You don’t know that,” Steve said softly. “What if he wasn’t? What if I’d seen him before and he hadn’t expressed a desire to rip my throat out?” Steve fumbled around the words and Bucky could tell he was still getting used to the idea of vampires and hunters and all other supernatural nonsense. “What if he was _trying_ to be good?”

“Vampires aren’t good, Steve.” Tony’s voice was bitter. Bucky could taste his sadness from around the corner. “Trust me, I know.”

“Well, what if you’re wrong? What if he –?”

“Enough, Steve!” Tony’s anger bloomed, a dark and dangerous thing that sent a prickle of dread up Bucky’s spine. “You see your boy, you kill him! No questions asked. Got it?”

“No.”

Bucky’s entire body froze. He listened with a fading string of hope as Steve stood up for him, shaking his head and glaring at Tony with his beautiful blonde face.

“No, I don’t got it,” he continued. “I don’t believe it, Tony. Not all vampires are evil. And Bucky, Bucky’s trying. He needs us, he needs me! To be better, I mean. He –”

“Steve!” Tony shouted and every muscle in Bucky’s cold dead body stiffened. He knew that shout and the power burning behind it. That was a battle cry, a – “ENOUGH!”

Bucky heard the crash as Steve was thrown and pinned against the wall. “I know vampires are evil, Steve! I know it! They killed my parents, destroyed my life!” There was a pause and a ragged inhale. “And they turned me.”

Bucky gasped audibly in time with Steve’s own cry of confusion. Thankfully though, both their gasps were drowned out by the tremendous crash that spiraled out of the alleyway. Without another thought, Bucky ran into the open, turning into the alley’s entrance with his fangs bared. He saw Tony on top of another vampire – the one he and Steve had been hunting – holding him down with a silver blade at his throat. Steve was on his side, scrabbling up the wall with his fingers digging hard into the brick. When he saw Bucky, he blinked, falling back to the ground from his kneeling position on the wall.

“Buck!” he gasped as Tony slit the vampire’s throat with his silver knife.

At Steve’s low cry he whirled around with a feral expression. He saw Bucky and smiled, reveling a row of shiny white teeth and two sharp vampire fangs.

“Glad you could make it,” he growled.

Bucky slid in front of Steve, putting himself closer to Tony than he would’ve liked. “Never in all my years,” he breathed, looking from Tony’s fangs to the hunter’s mark shining on his forearm.

“It’s odd, isn’t it?” Tony lifted his arm, letting his sleeve fall down to further expose the glimmering mark. “A hunter who’s also a vampire. A vampire hunter who knows his prey more than any other hunter in the world.” His smile was twisted, ruined by the fangs hanging down past his lips. “A vampire’s body is not without its perks, I must say.”

“Tony?” Steve was behind Bucky, voice low and shocked. “Oh my God.”

Tony shook his head sadly, lowering his arm. “I was going to tell you. I was, I just –”

“No.” Steve sounded close to tears. Bucky spared him a look and saw his wide eyes, the hurt written all over his expression. “No. No, you weren’t. Bucky wasn’t. Thor wasn’t. And I know you weren’t either.”

“Thor?” Bucky’s mouth moved of its own accord. _There’s a third vampire_ , he thought. _A third variable?_ His eyes ran over Steve with a new appreciation. _What the fuck is up with kid? He’s like a supernatural trouble-magnet._

“Steve . . .” Tony’s voice was this side of desperate. His hand around the knife was shaking uncontrollably, the hunter’s mark shining so bright it lit up the whole alley. “Look, it’s okay. I can fix this. Look, we kill Bucky and then it’ll all be over. You won’t have to worry about him anymore and I won’t have to worry about you. Then you can . . . you can never talk to me again, okay? Just please. Let me kill him. I don’t want to have to worry about you.”

“You think killing Bucky would fix things?”

It was almost like he wasn’t there. Bucky listened to their conversation warily, eyes moving back and forth between the two while he kept himself positioned between Tony the rabid-hunter-vampire and his vulnerable human boyfriend.

Steve shook his head sharply. “It wouldn’t, Tony. I –”

Bucky tried really fucking hard not to smile. He looked at Steve and saw something in his eyes he hadn’t seen for weeks: _love_. Fucking punk was going to take him back. After everything Bucky had done, after everything he’d seen . . .

“I love him!”

Bucky was over the moon. He was so goddamn happy that he barely saw Tony as he lunged forward, snarling viciously with the knife raised.

“You do not!” Tony was over Bucky before he could react, knocking him onto his back and swinging the knife down into his gut.

Bucky howled, kicking the rabid hunter off him and shuffling to his feet. He felt Steve’s gaze on him, hot and worried, as blood began to drip from his abdomen.

“That hurt, you dick,” he breathed, fangs bared.

“And it’s only going to get worse.” Tony moved forward, eagerly.

He swung, Bucky ducked. Bucky lunged, Tony slid out of the way. The alley walls confined them, made their fight low and dirty and rough. Bucky managed to take a big chunk out of Tony’s shoulder with his teeth despite the burning in his gut. But it didn’t matter. Their dance was endless. They were never going to make any progress against each other, both of them were too good.

Bucky pulled away, moving in front of Steve after Tony tried to make a move in his direction. “I’m not going to kill you, Stark,” he growled, folding his hand over his bleeding abdomen.

“As if you could,” the hunter snarled.

Bucky took a deep breathe, struggling for patience. He could feel Steve moving restlessly behind him, sliding around to his side to duck under his arm and hold him up.

“I’m not going to kill you,” he continued, settling into Steve’s side. “Because it would upset Steve.” His arm tightened around Bucky’s shoulder and he could feel him breathing beside him, heart fluttering wildly. “But if you try to hurt him, I will destroy you, _hunter_.”

He turned, shuffling away with Steve holding him up. He could hear Tony moving behind him, running and snarling with rage. He tried to turn, tried to block his incoming blow, but he wasn’t fast enough.

Steve _was_.

Steve vanished from Bucky’s side and reappeared with a trash can lid he’d stolen off one of the nearby bins. He held it up to block Tony’s swing, grinning fiercely when the knife bounced off the makeshift shield, landing at his feet. He grabbed the knife and held the shield up, swinging his arm forward to send it swinging into Tony’s gut.

The force of the blow knocked him back a few steps and sent the wind spiraling out of him. Bucky groped for Steve’s shoulder, tucking him back against his side when Tony threw the shield down. The metal clattered loudly in the alleyway and Bucky turned, preparing for the worst.

But Tony was done. The mark on his arm was dim and his fangs were gone, retreating back into the cavern of his mouth. He wore the most pitiful expression Bucky had ever seen, his tan confident face folded in lines of shadow and pain.

“Steve?” His voice held so much betrayal that Bucky almost felt bad for the guy.

“No more lies.” Steve dropped the knife. He shook his head and turned away, grabbing Bucky’s arm and hauling him along with him. “That goes for you too,” he whispered into Bucky’s side.

Bucky didn’t think he’d ever been happier, didn’t think a vampire could get this happy. Brooding was in the job description. Angst was a part of the daily routine. You couldn’t be a vampire without some anger issues and major emotional baggage. But in that moment, Bucky would’ve sworn he was flying.

*

The makeup sex was amazing. Absolutely superb.

“If I’d known all it would take for you to love me again was for me to get stabbed, I would’ve done that weeks ago,” Bucky said afterwards, holding Steve snugly against his side.

“That wasn’t it, you moron,” Steve whispered right up against his collarbone.

“Oh?” Bucky grinned, tightening his hold.

But he knew.

Bucky had found himself again. Had found the human part of him again. By sparing Stark, he’d let Steve know that he was ready. Ready to start again. To begin a secret-free life with Steve. To begin living as the good man Steve always thought he was.

With the first order of business as a “good man” completed – his makeup sex with Steve – he began working on the second: finding out who the fuck this Thor guy was.

Steve was reluctant to talk about him at first. But when Bucky reminded him that this “no secrets” thing went both ways, he caved.

“He’s another vampire.”

“No shit.”

“But he doesn’t drink human blood.”

“Say what?”

“Not even from blood banks. He’s a vegetarian.”

“Nice word choice, punk.”

“You know what I mean.”

Bucky really didn’t.

He met the guy one night in Central Park, feeding off bunnies and squirrels and anything else he could get his hands on.

“That’s disgusting,” Bucky told him, crossing his arms over his chest.

Thor shrugged and wiped his mouth, tossing the little bunny body away. “It gets the job done, my friend.”

He and Tony were good friends apparently. And by good friends he meant they’d formed an uneasy alliance. Tony had agreed not to slit his throat at long as Thor stuck to feeding off Bambi and his other woodland creatures.

Every so often Thor took an extended trip out of the city, returning with blood bags filled with deer, wolf, and bear blood. The thought of drinking that stuff – he’d tried it once and had to drink from six different people before he could get the taste of that watered down puke out of his mouth – made him shudder but yeah, Thor wasn’t his concern.

He liked Steve well enough. And while it made Bucky uncomfortable to have yet another vampire hanging around his human, he allowed it, provided Thor stuck to his bunny diet.

Third order of business as Bucky “good man” Barnes was to ease off the whole Vampire King of New York thing. He maintained his title, kept his penthouse looking suave and made sure he was accorded the appropriate respect for a man of his position, but he tried to steer New York’s underworld into a more human friendly direction.

He made his vampires ease up on killing, made them focus more on just tasting from humans and leaving them otherwise unharmed. He got the werewolf packs organized and sectioned off different parts of the city for the rival factions. No more pack wars in the middle of the street and no more innocent civilians getting caught in the crosshairs.

He laid down restrictions for the different wizarding groups and forbade any kind of illicit selling to humans. If they didn’t know what they were buying, they couldn’t buy it, and; therefore, they couldn’t be mysteriously strangled by a cursed piece of bacon, or whatever the hell those scummy wizards were trying to sell. He even got his hands into the faerie business, making sure their circles didn’t overlap so they wouldn’t draw so much attention to themselves. Other than that, he kind of let them do whatever because, although they talked a big game, faeries were more concerned with partying than fucking up human existence.

Steve was impressed, to put it mildly.

“Don’t think you’re gonna lose you’re bad-boy reputation?” he asked one night when Bucky took him to one of _his_ dives, a bar catered towards everything supernatural.

Everyone in there was looking at Steve with hungry eyes, but when they saw who he was with they backed off, nodding their heads in a token of respect.

Bucky shrugged. “I can still kick ass if I need to.” He ordered a drink for Steve and himself, laughing when Steve took a sip and almost hacked up a lung.

Course he wasn’t always a saint.

When an ambitious dark sider – a vampire with an ability similar to Bucky’s – started dropping bodies to get his attention, he confronted him with fangs bared.

“You ain’t the king no more.” He had guts, Bucky had to admit. “It’s time someone better took your place.”

Bucky came home to Steve with blood on his mouth that night.

“Buck . . .” he breathed, sitting up in bed while Bucky undressed. He left the light off and Bucky was glad. He didn’t want to see Steve’s expression when he pulled off his blood-stained shirt and dropped it next to his boots. Then he turned, pulling Steve into him and just breathing into his hair.

“You make me good,” he whispered, burying his face into Steve. “You do.”

“I try.” Steve’s voice was soft, too soft, and Bucky felt sick with guilt.

Natasha came to visit not long after that.

“It’s about time I met this human of yours,” she said to Bucky when she showed up on Steve’s doorstep, eyes bright.

“He’s not home,” Bucky lied, cringing when Steve called to him from the living room, asking who was at the door.

Steve let her in with good humor, looking amused when Bucky sat on the couch between him and Natasha. He listened to her tell stories about fearsome vampire Bucky, about all the shit they’d done together, about how he’d raised her to be a killer.

After all that, Steve was silent for a moment, but then he leaned forward and rested his chin on Bucky’s shoulder. “Dang you were scary,” he breathed and Natasha started laughing, loud and long.

“Keep him,” she said to Bucky after Steve had gone to sleep and they were sharing a drink in his kitchen. “He makes you human.”

“But I’m a vampire.” Bucky took a swig of his beer. “Who says I want to be human?”

She just looked at him, one brow raised. “We all do. We drink human blood to feel again, to restart our hearts, to get our own blood pumping. We are monsters trying so damn hard to be human. And that boy back there.” She nodded to Steve’s bedroom door. “He gets you closer than any blood bag will.”

“Will he still?” Bucky asked, draining the last of his beer. “Even when he’s cold and dead like me?”

Natasha set down her own beer and smacked him upside the head. “Idiot,” she muttered in Russia. “Of course he will.”

And so began the longest night of Bucky’s soul, otherwise known as the nights he spent trying to convince Steve to become a vampire.

“We could go anywhere.” He pressed dangerous kisses everywhere, sipping from Steve’s neck. “ _Everywhere_.”

“Buck . . .” Steve was too far gone. He was drowning in pleasure and Bucky’s bite only heightened it. He could listen to Bucky’s words, but he couldn’t respond. And that was fine with Bucky. He wasn’t sure what he would do if Steve turned him down.

They were talking about it over dinner one night. Not exactly dinner table conversation, but hey, Bucky was just glad Steve was talking about it at all. It would’ve been worse for him to internalize it, for him to store all those messy emotions away where Bucky couldn’t help him.

“So you eat regular human food?” Steve was eyeing Bucky as he packed in mouthful after mouthful of Chinese takeout.

“Yeah.” Bucky burped loudly, grinning impishly when Steve rolled his eyes. “The blood’s a necessity, a mean’s for us to survive. But we still enjoy good food. It’s a little bland compared to . . .” He trailed off and shrugged. “But yeah. We can eat food.”

“Weird.” Steve’s own takeout was untouched. He was watching Bucky from across the table, chin resting in his palms.

“What’s up?” Bucky was almost afraid to ask.

“I saw my dad today.”

Bucky sat back and raised his eyebrows. Steve hardly ever talked about his step-dad, mysterious Mr. Pierce, as Bucky referred to him. In fact, Steve hadn’t mentioned him at all outside their conversation at the Uni – the local bar where he and Steve had shared a drink after Bucky saved his ass – except in passing.

“He asked how school was going.” Steve’s words were slow coming. “Then he asked about you.”

Bucky blinked in surprise. “What?”

“Yeah.” Steve smiled grimly, shaking his head. “It was kind of out of the blue. I mean, I haven’t talked to him in over a year, since before I met you actually, and all of the sudden he’s in town and asking about my boyfriend.”

Bucky had a feeling things were about to take a turn for the worst. “Weird.”

“He knows who you are, Buck.” Steve wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Not the vampire part obviously. But he knows you’re name has some sway around here. And that not all of it is . . .” He cleared his throat.

“Good,” Bucky said darkly. “That not all of it is good.”

Steve sighed, ducking his head. “Right.”

“Right.” Bucky stood up sharply. The sound of his chair scraping against the tile got Steve to look up, blue eyes wide and wounded. “What did he say after that? That I’m no good for you? That he doesn’t want my _line of work_ to ruin your apple pie reputation.”

“He thinks it would look bad if I ever decided to run for office.” Steve’s whole body flushed a deep shameful red. “He wants me to break up with you.”

“Oh _does_ he?” Bucky’s lips were tingling, his fangs so close to sliding out. He reigned himself in, sighing deeply and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Do you?” he asked after a minute.

“No,” Steve said softly, shaking his head. “No, I don’t.”

Bucky moved in front of Steve, kicking his chair out from under the table so he could kneel in front of him. “Steve, look at me. Hey. Look.” He reached out and grabbed Steve’s chin, forcing him to meet his eyes. “Who cares what you’re dad thinks? Who gives a single flying fuck?”

“I do!” Steve sounded miserable. “He’s my . . . he’s my father.”

“He’s your step-dad,” Bucky snorted. “And he didn’t raise you. Your grandfather did.”

“I don’t know what to do.” Steve jerked his head away from Bucky’s hand, tipping it back towards the ceiling. “I just don’t, Buck.”

Bucky tried really hard not to be distracted by the white line of his throat. “We’re not just talking about your father now, are we?”

Steve didn’t look back down and Bucky sighed.

And it only got worse.

*

Later that night.

“I could hold you down and do it, you know.” Bucky’s voice was deceptively soft in the darkness around them.

            He felt Steve stiffening beside him, growing cold and trying to scoot away from Bucky’s teasing touch.

            “It’d be fairly easy too.” Bucky didn’t let the overgrown hunk of muscle scoot away. He tilted Steve’s head with a light flick of his wrist, turning his head to face the darkened wall. “Barely a pinprick . . .” He let his voice trail off into silence.

            Turning Steve would be . . . ecstasy. He would have everything he’d ever wanted, tied up in a neat little package that would be his forever. Screw that arrogant hunter Tony and Mr. Goody-two-shoes-the-bunny-eater Thor. Bucky had been wanting to take that hunter down a notch anyway. Turning Steve would be like a slap in his face. His little pet project, turned into one of the creatures he hated the most. The thought alone made Bucky’s toes curl with pleasure.

            But more than that, more than Thor, and Tony, and Bucky’s petty rivalry with the two, was his love for Steve. Whenever he looked at Steve, whenever he saw him getting up with a head full of lanky blonde hair, or laid out in front of him all needy and wanting, or even just walking around the apartment giving Bucky that genuine smile that made him feel loved, made him feel wanted, and handsome, and _whole_ . . . it made his cold dead heart ache.

            “Bucky,” Steve’s voice, tight and strained brought him back to reality. “Let go.”

            “Oh, but why . . .?” His lips turned up in a devilish grin. He released Steve’s waist to climb on top of him, pinning Steve beneath him with his arms caught up above his head. He let his legs fall, hips straddling Steve’s, keeping him down and locked in place. “We were just starting to have fun . . .” he whispered into Steve’s neck, lowering himself until he was lying flush against him, cold dead chest pressed right up against the living, breathing one.

            Steve’s breath quickened. Bucky grinned, listening to his heartbeat thumping louder and louder in his chest.

            “Oooh.” He moved from Steve’s neck to his chest, pressing his nose just above his heart. “Here that?” He lifted his head to meet Steve’s eyes, his own flashing predatorily in the near darkness. “Sounds like someone’s excited.”

            “Hey!” Steve squirmed around beneath him as Bucky let his wrists go before he caught them back up in one hand. “Knock it off, Bucky!”

            “No.” Bucky pouted into the curve of Steve’s neck, using his free hand to turn Steve’s head to the side. “Don’t wanna.”

            “Bucky . . .” Steve’s breathing was deliciously uneven as Bucky pressed a kiss into the side of his mouth, drawing his lips lower and lower until they were resting above the jiggling pulse dancing at Steve’s neck.

            Bucky drew his tongue across it, letting his lips rest on the flushed skin. “What?” he whispered, blowing very softly onto Steve’s neck.

            “Stop.” His voice was more of a plea than a command. His voice was so weak and thin; it was nothing like the Steve Bucky was used to. “Please.”

            “And if I don’t?” His fangs were out. Very carefully he drew them down onto Steve’s skin, letting him feel their sharpness without actually puncturing the skin.

            “Please.” Steve’s whole body tightened beneath him. His voice cracked – it actually cracked – and Bucky eased off, lust and desire melting into concern for his human boyfriend. “Oh God. This is _not_ how I want it. Please, just . . .”

            “What?” Bucky eased up, still hovering on all fours above Steve. “This is not how you want what?”

            Steve didn’t say anything, he just shook his head, pulse still flashing rapidly at his throat. Slowly, Bucky peeled himself off Steve, watching him with concern, hollowed eyes.

            _I think I pushed him too far_ , he thought to himself, feeling strangely guilty, an emotion that did not sit well with his vampire heart. _Oh shit._

            The moment he was released, Steve fled jumping out of the bed and running out of the room.

            “Steve?” Bucky called, chasing after him. “Steve, hey!”

            But he was already out the door. Bucky stood at the threshold and watched him run down the sidewalk toward the Stark Tower. He’d managed to pull a jacket on other his lanky sweats and tight white t-shirt, but even then he was hardly decent. Bucky let himself feel a flash of jealously at the thought of anyone but him getting to see Steve all early-morning disheveled.

            After the jealousy had passed, Bucky left for his own penthouse apartment, blacked out windows keeping him safe from the sun’s rays. When he woke the sun was safely behind the New York City skyline, and Bucky thought it safe to try his luck with Steve.

            He prepared an apology speech as he walked over to Steve’s, weaving in and out of the people hurrying by. He thought about finding a meal to calm his rattling nerves, but he _so_ did not want to show up to Steve’s with blood on his mouth. It’d been a while since he’d truly drained someone and Bucky’s willpower was fading. What he really wanted was a sip of Steve, but he wasn’t sure just what kind of reaction he was going to get when he crawled into Steve’s apartment.

            When he got to the door, he found it locked. Scowling at the door, he tried the doorbell several times, waiting for an answer to no avail. He checked under the little welcome mat, in the potted plant beside the doorway, beside the little bowl of milk Steve always left out for the strays, searching for any kind of spare key.

            When he didn’t find it, Bucky sat down on the threshold, crossing his arms over his chest and tucking his knees up into his chest. Maybe Steve wasn’t home. He was probably working late. That was okay, Bucky would wait for him. He had an epic apology to make after all. He could wait a little longer to make it.

Minutes passed. Bucky pouted into his jeans and hissed at anyone who came too close, grumbling to himself. _I am a creature of the night, dammit,_ he thought. _I am a badass blood drinker, not one of those stray cats that come sniffing at his door._

After twenty minutes, Bucky stood, deciding to find his own way in. He went around back and climbed onto the fire escape, glad to see that Steve had left his back window open.

 _Dumbass_ , he thought, as he climbed. _Always a weak point with this one._

While Bucky may have thought he was being a super clever stealth vampire, in actuality he was walking straight into Steve’s trap.

“Ow!” he cried, tumbling out of the window and onto Steve’s bed. “Shit!” Something burned at his side and he straightened, searching with his hands in the darkness to find whatever was stinging him. “Oh, holy –!”

At the same time the window shut behind him, the light flicked on in front of him and Bucky saw Steve smiling from an armchair, lit with warm lamplight.

“What the hell is this?” Bucky glared at Steve, looking around the bed cautiously. “Did you . . . is this _silver_?”

Steve’s smile grew. “Yep.”

Bucky’s eyes widened, his mouth fell open. “What?”

The whole bed was ringed in the stuff. Silver necklaces, forks, spoons, and beads of all different sizes were strung up around the bed, surrounding Bucky in a little cage of silver. Even the window had a silver lining on it, trapping Bucky from the inside.

“Very funny.” Bucky glared at Steve, gesturing at all the silver. “Nice prank, punk.”

“Took all the silver I had to make that.” Steve slid one hand in his front pocket, rubbing the back of his neck with his other hand. “I’m very proud.”

“I’m gonna kill you.” Bucky tried to move forward, but jerked back when his hand hit the silver cage. “God!” His hand burned and he held it to his chest, narrowing his eyes in Steve’s direction. “Yep. Definitely gonna kill you.”

Steve was wearing his best shit-eating grin. “Is this before or after you turn me?”

Any other day, Bucky would have laughed.

“Not funny, punk.”

“I think it’s very funny.”

“Drop it.”

“Nope.”

“Take this shit off.”

“Nu uh.”

“Steve.”

“Bucky.”

“Steve, I swear to God.”

“Bucky, I swear to Jesus.”

Steve was standing at the door, wiping a hand down his jaw to try and hide his smile.

“You think I’m kidding.” Bucky was poking at the little line of silver with his finger, looking for any kind of weak spot. “Ow! Dammit, Steve.”

“This.” Steve gestured to Bucky and the bed. “This is payback.”

“Payback? OW!” Bucky stuck his burning finger in his mouth, glaring at Steve with every square inch of vampirific anger he had. “Payback for what!?”

Steve sighed and moved closer, bending so he was at Bucky’s eyelevel. “I’m only gonna say this once so you better listen closely, jerk.” Bucky’s eyes narrowed but he kept his mouth shut. “I love you and I’m gonna let you turn me.”

Bucky’s heart dropped into his shoes. For something that had stopped beating a long fucking time ago, Bucky was surprised at how much pain it was giving him lately.

“You’re what?” His lips parted in surprise. All his anger melted away, replaced by such a consuming, burning joy that it made him want to reach out and pull Steve into his arms right then and there, silver be damned.

“But only when I say so.” Steve looked down. “You scared the shit out of me last night.”

Bucky nodded his head with a roll of his eyes. “Glad I can still do that considering I’m a motherfucking vampire.”

“Shut up.” Steve leaned even closer so Bucky could see the beat fluttering wildly at his throat, the moisture in his eyes and on his lips, and the all-consuming beauty of his human face. “You sit here,” he said, looking at the cage circling Bucky. “And think about what you’ve done.”

He stood and Bucky could feel the heat of him leaving, drifting further and further out of his reach.

“And when you come back you’ll let me turn you?” Bucky hadn’t let himself hope for a long time, hadn’t let himself believe that salvation would come. But come it had. Condensed in the form of one tall blonde human with the prettiest blue eyes and lips redder than blood.

“We’ll see.” Steve stood and started to walk away.

“So what?” Bucky leaned forward on the bed, trying to follow him with his eyes. “You’re just going to leave me here? Where are you going to go?”

“Stark’s invited me over.” Steve paused at the doorway. “Thor’s gonna be there too.”

Bucky could feel his fangs pressing into his lower lip. “Don’t go,” he growled.

Steve shook his head, a small smile curling his lips up. “Yeah. They’re probably going to spend the whole night telling me how crazy I am, but I . . .” He trailed off and looked back at Bucky. “I don’t care.”

At the same time Bucky’s veins lit up with anger, his heart bloomed at least three times it usual size.

“Steve?” Bucky tried calling after him, reaching out to him with a voice made weak with longing. “Steve? Oh come on, Steve! You’re serious, aren’t you? Steve. Steve!”

Bucky flopped back onto the bed when he heard the door close, punching his fists into the barrier of silver that kept him trapped in Steve’s empty bed.

“Thank God for technology,” he muttered to himself after a few minutes of moping. He pulled out his phone and dialed the first name he found, the first name he trusted. “Hey, Nat, it’s me.”

Two hours later Bucky could hear her coming in. He listened as she picked the lock to Steve’s apartment and crept in with her usual stealth, grinning when she found Bucky lying upside down with on Steve’s bed, poking at the silver barrier with one burnt finger.

“Thank God!” he groaned, sitting up when he saw Natasha. “Took you long enough.”

“You damn moron!” she laughed in Russian, going into Steve’s kitchen for a pair of oven mitts. “Oh God, this is priceless.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Bucky grumbled as she slowly dismantled Bucky’s cage, pulling it apart with care and bending each piece of silver far beyond recognition. “Toss all the shit out the window, would ya?”

“Oh man, you’re so whipped.” She laughed so loudly he feared she would wake the neighbors, tossing the silver pieces out the window with a casual flick of her wrist. “The Vampire King of New York. Holy shit, James. So fucking whipped.”

“Shut up.” Bucky knocked her shoulder, pushing her out the apartment the way she’d come.

But it was true. God, it was so true.

Bucky took his time dismantling Steve’s apartment. Every piece of silver he found he tossed out the window, aiming for the other side of the fucking city. He blacked out Steve’s windows while the sun was down, taped black paper against the glass, shut the blinds, and pulled the curtains tight over that. He even pushed furniture against the bigger windows, scowling at the door to Steve’s apartment like it was the man himself.

When he was finished, he sat down in the same chair Steve had ambushed him from, grinning with his arms crossed over his chest.

It was around noon when Steve came home. Bucky listened to him clang around the darkened kitchen, not bothering to turn on the lights or undo the blinds. He obviously thought he was safe by the way he was humming to himself, carrying on with carefree abandon. He heard him moving towards the bedroom and grinned, getting ready to pounce.

Steve pushed the door open with a big smug grin turning his lips up. When he found the bed empty of both silver and Bucky his smile quickly dropped into a rather frightened little frown. Bucky let himself enjoy that look of scared surprise for a heartbeat before he leaped from his chair.

He had Steve pinned beneath him before the fucker knew what had hit him. He brushed his body against every line of Steve’s, feeling him tense under Bucky’s hard grip

“Shit,” he breathed, face right beneath Bucky’s.

“Hmm.” Bucky laughed in a whisper, bending his face to trace his nose over Steve’s eyelids. “Shit indeed.”

As he traced his nose lower and lower, Bucky became aware of a slight burning sensation in the tip of his nose. Pulling back, he frowned when he saw something glinting in the dim light.

“What the hell?” Bucky reached for the light and flicked it open, gasping when he saw the round silver ball hanging from the end of Steve’s eyebrow. “Oh for fuck’s sake!” he cried jumping off him.

Steve burst out laughing, still lying on the ground where Bucky had left him. His hand went to his heart and he curled himself inward, still laughing.

“Jesus.” Bucky shook his head. “You’re one crazy kid, Rogers.”

“You think I’m dumb?” Steve propped himself up onto his elbows, still laughing lightly. “I knew you’d call Natasha in to get you out.”

“So you decided to shoot your face up with a bunch of silver balls?” Bucky sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, thinking – not for the last time – whether this damn human was worth all the effort Bucky was putting into getting him (the answer was, of course, an undeniable fuck yes that Bucky only fully realized after he turned Steve).

“You like them?” Steve grinned, running his tongue over the silver ring hooked around his lip.

He had about 13 piercings in total. Three on each ear, one for each eyebrow, two lip piercings, two just below his lip, one just under his left ear (Bucky’s preferred side), one under his jaw, and two lower down on his neck, beside his collarbone. They fit nicely into the curve of his shoulder and throat and Bucky had to admit that even though he wasn’t happy with the choice of material, Steve looked hot.

In addition to the piercings, Bucky saw silver necklaces glinting at his neckline, winking in and out of his shirt. His eyes went skyward when Steve stuck out his tongue and Bucky saw one big ball resting in the middle of all that flesh.

“You’re dead meat, Steve-o.” Bucky grinned, pointing at Steve from across the room. “The minute you take this off I’m going to fuck you senseless and they’ll be nothing you can do to stop me.”

“You sure you don’t wanna have a go right now?” Steve’s smile was pure evil. Not for the first time, Bucky saw the potential for a great vampire hiding beneath all that good guy, sparkly rainbow marshmallow fluff.

Bucky chucked a pillow at his glittering head. “Fuck you.”

Steve’s laugh was so sinful it hurt Bucky to listen. He followed Steve with his eyes as he went walked around the apartment, grinning from ear-to-ear.

They went on like that for a few weeks. Slowly, Bucky forgot what it was like to taste Steve, to feel him begging and crying for pleasure beneath him. Although he loved Steve, really did as much as his vampire side hated to admit, he was losing his patience.

“You’ve got all eternity,” Steve reminded him one night after Bucky had tried to coax Steve into taking out just a few of the piercings. “Surely you can wait a few more days.”

“I can’t.” Bucky let his fangs scrap against the inside of Steve’s wrist, the only part of him that wasn’t riddled with silver. “I need you, Steve.” He found Steve’s gaze and looked him dead in the eye as he sunk his fangs into the skin, sipping at the blood that flowed rich and healthy beneath the surface. “I really do.”

Slowly, Steve succumbed to the pleasure of Bucky’s bite. Holding him tightly, Bucky licked at his skin, drawing a little more blood than probably necessary from Steve’s pulsing vein. He let go only when Steve promised to take out some piercings, sitting back and watching Steve writhe with pleasure beneath him.

The next day, his eyebrow piercings were gone and so were the two under his lips.

Bucky only felt a little bad about seducing the piercings out of Steve. He got as close to Steve as he could handle and when he had successfully riled him up, bit deep into his skin and dragged the words out of him.

“I’ll take them off.” Steve panted as Bucky let go of his wrist, moving up to his bare neck to play with the skin there.

“Promise.” Bucky kissed the skin deliciously slow, enjoying the shudders that rocked down over Steve’s shoulders.

“Promise.”

The lip rings were the last to come out. Bucky pulled those out himself, watching Steve carefully and smiling when he nodded in agreement. He kissed the blood from his lips and finally gave Steve what he wanted, the pleasure he’d kept at bay all those nights he’d been plugged up with silver.

“What did I say?” he said after they were done, fingers sifting through Steve’s soft blonde hair.

“Nothing,” Steve grumbled, pressing his lips into the curve of Bucky’s collarbone.

“Umm, I totally said something. Hmmm, what did I say?” Bucky pretended to think, grinning when he felt Steve shifting uncomfortably beside him. “Oh that’s right . . .” Bucky was so fucking proud of himself, he couldn’t help but draw the moment out a little. “I said I would fuck you senseless, didn’t I?”

“Shut up.” There was a smile in Steve’s voice, Bucky could hear it.

“And did I?” Bucky looked down at Steve, curling one flat lock around his finger. “Well?” he grinned when Steve didn’t answer, jostling him softly against his side. “Did I?”

“Jerk,” Steve breathed into Bucky’s collarbone.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Bucky smiled.

Steve moved so his chin was resting on Bucky’s shoulder, his lips not far from his ear. “Give me a year,” he whispered, drawing Bucky closer to his side. “Let me finish school.”

Bucky’s lips curled into a grin. “One condition”

Steve snorted in surprise. “ _You_ have a condition? You’re not in a position to bargain, mister.”

Bucky kissed Steve’s forehead, letting his cold lips rest on the warm skin. “You tell your dad you’re changing majors. You finish school as an artist, not some stupid military history major.”

Bucky sensed Steve’s surprise, could feel it pressing into every line of him, but he pushed on regardless. “Then I change you.”

“Then you change me.” Steve sounded almost shell-shocked. Then he laughed. “Okay, Buck.”

Bucky smiled so wide he thought his face would burst. He turned onto his side so he was looking at Steve, eyes burning brightly in the near-darkness. “Are you sure?” he asked, reaching out to stroke the side of Steve’s face. “I don’t want you to rush into this.”

Steve smiled, lacing his fingers with Bucky’s. “Liar.”

Bucky shrugged, trying really hard not to grin. “Yeah, but you wanted to hear me say that.”

“I did.” Bucky held out his arms and Steve pulled himself into them, nestling so his head was pressing against Bucky’s cold lifeless chest. “So thank you.”

“Punk.” Bucky kissed his hairline, tracing a ghostly line with his fangs over the top of Steve’s head.

“Jerk.” Steve breathed, falling asleep in the circle of Bucky’s arms.

It was odd sure. Steve was a little taller than him, so Bucky had to hold him differently than he would a regular person. It was also kind of weird just to hold him. Bucky knew, deep down in his stone cold heart, that he was the enemy. That his being was, at its very nature, the predator and Steve was his prey. And yet, Steve could fall asleep beside him. Had done so for almost a year now.

It was dangerous and stupid and so incredibly _Steve_.

With a lingering smile, Bucky pressed one more kiss to his forehead and dropped into sleep with Steve in his arms.

But Bucky got to turn Steve much, much earlier than he’d expected. And the circumstances for Steve’s change weren’t anything like he imagined.

*

It was three in the afternoon when he got the call.

“Nat?” He mumbled sleepily, sitting up in his dark apartment. “Do you know what time it is?”

“Take the subway to Stark Tower,” she said simply. “Steve’s in trouble.”

Half an hour later and covered in head-to-toe black outerwear, Bucky showed up at the hunter’s apartment building with a snarl on his lips.

“You can come on in.” Stark pulled the door open and walked off down the hallway. “I’m a vampire, remember? That makes this” – he waved at his threshold – “public property.”

“Would’ve been nice to know that first time we met.” Bucky huffed, scooting inside the dark apartment and shucking his extra layers.

“Nah, you needed to think I will still human then.” Stark tried smiling at him, but it was weak and gloomy.

“Why are you being nice to me?” Bucky frowned at him.

“Cause your boyfriend’s dying,” Natasha said from the doorway to Stark’s bedroom.

And he was.

Lying on Stark’s bed, bloody and bruised, with mounds of gauze folded around his middle, Steve Rogers looked like hell. Hell warmed over. Hell that had taken a beating and then been sent back down to rot in its own fires. He looked . . . God, he looked awful.

“What the fuck happened?” Bucky couldn’t move. Every fiber of his being was tense, bunched up, and angry.

“He confronted his father.” Thor sat on Steve’s right side, adjusting the gauze around his stomach.

“Told him he was switching majors.” Stark moved into the room carrying a tray with some painkillers and a glass of water.

“Then he showed up here, bloody and asking for you.” Natasha stood behind him, hand resting lightly on his shoulder. “Said his father had shot him.”

“Oh my God.” Bucky couldn’t see straight. The monster was screaming, howling, drowning in its own bloodlust. “I told him to do that.”

“Stop.” Natasha dug her fingers like claws into his arm. “Don’t do that to yourself.”

“But I told him to talk his dad. I said –”

“Buck?”

Bucky was at Steve’s side instantly, shuffling Thor to the side and finding Steve’s hand and wrapping his fingers around it. “Hey, Stevie,” he breathed, watching Steve’s eyes flutter open, find his for a moment, before slipping shut again. “How’re you feeling?”

“He’s lost too much blood.” Natasha hooked a blood bag onto a stand by Steve’s bed and jammed a needle in his arm, feeding the bag into his arm. Bucky didn’t even look up; the blood didn’t bother him at all. “If you’re going to change him, you have to do it now, are he won’t make it through the process alive.”

“You hear that, Steve?” Bucky mashed his lips against the inside of Steve’s wrist, mouthing the fading pulse tenderly. “I’ve got to change you.”

“Do it.” Steve’s voice was a croak, barely anything, and it made Bucky’s dead heart ache. His eyelids fluttered and Bucky saw a tear tracing out of the corner of one eye, a clear bead of moisture moving down his skin and into the fold of his neck.

“I love you.” Bucky let go of Steve’s hand with one of his, keeping his eyes on Steve as he lifted his wrist up to his mouth.

“Love you too,” Steve breathed, lips parting, ready for Bucky’s blood.

It was painful, turning Steve. Bucky wanted it, had wanted it for so long. But he’d wanted it to be nice. He’d wanted to turn Steve after he’d finished school, after they’d made love and cuddled into the early hours of the morning. Instead, Bucky was turning Steve on bloodstained sheets with a boiling rage simmering on his tongue as Steve’s heart struggled to pump Bucky’s dead blood to all the corners of his body.

When Steve’s heart finally stopped beating, Bucky wasn’t sure if it was because the change had worked or Steve had actually died. He rested his head on Steve’s chest and waited for him to come back, biting his lip and crying softly as the minutes passed without any movement.

Finally, finally, Steve twitched, opening his eyes and blinking down at Bucky’s head where it rested on the center of his chest.

“Hear anything?” he asked, lips cracked and stained red with Bucky’s blood.

His face was pale, his lips bright red and flaking with skin. His eyes were strained and bloodshot and there were some massive bags hanging beneath his eyes. But in that moment, Bucky had never thought Steve looked more beautiful.

*

Many, many years later.

“Do you miss it?”

“Hmm?”

“Being human? Do you miss it?”

“Not really.”

“Liar.”

“I have you.” Steve’s smile was like the sun, too bright and too glorious for Bucky to look. “Why would I miss a time when I didn’t?”

 

end

 


End file.
